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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790601">Stolen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World Wrestling Entertainment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Child Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Coming Untouched, Cum Play, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminization, Forced Intoxication, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda?, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Punk's Dad is a Dick, Punk's Tragic Past, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sharing, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationship Almost Gets Healthy?, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:20:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When CM Punk is attacked by the Shield, he has to come to grips with painful moments from his past and things within himself that he spent his whole life pushing down. What begins as a brutal assault becomes the one thing he's always needed - and his enemies become something much more. Punk survives, but his friendships, career, and self-respect may never recover...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>CM Punk/Roman Reigns, CM Punk/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, CM Punk/The Shield, CM Punk/Triple H, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/CM Punk, John Cena/CM Punk, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Randy Orton/CM Punk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic contains a great deal of unsafe sex and unsafe BDSM practices as well depictions of sexual/physical/emotional abuse against both children and adults. Remember to thoroughly research any BDSM or kink practices you plan to engage in beforehand and to familiarize yourself with RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink). If you are in the USA and experiencing domestic violence, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 for support. If you have experienced or are experience rape, incest, or other instances of sexual violence, please call the RAINN hotline at 800-656-4673.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Punk was the last one left in the gym, and that was how he liked it. He went late every night to avoid lookie-loos and his fellow wrestlers gawking at his tattoos and sizing him up. He’d always been a loner, even in his tag team days, and he enjoyed the quiet contemplation that came with a solitary workout. His body was his temple, and he preferred to worship in peace.<br/>
He took a swig from his water and sat down to do leg extensions. His mind drifted to anxious warnings he’d been getting backstage ever since he started messing with the Shield. John Cena, the big Boy Scout, had offered to escort him to the gym that night, in fact, to “have his back.” It was an offer that was equally flattering and condescending, and as much as Punk didn’t object to the Cenation leader's company, he didn’t take it.<br/>
Honestly, he just wasn’t scared of the Shield. Sure, Roman had beaten him (finally), but Seth and Dean were pussycats. Besides, they may have been badasses in the ring with the cameras on them and security there to break up any fight that got too crazy, but Punk doubted they were just going to show up and attack him out of the blue. They may have hated each other, but at the end of the day, both Punk and the Shield fought for money. Tensions may run high and things may get personal, but it was a sport, and they were athletes. It wasn’t like Floyd Mayweather went around beating the shit out of his opponents in dark alleys.<br/>
He started his first set, his breathing and body easily finding a steady rhythm. His legs ached and trembled, and he gritted his teeth to push through it. <i>Maybe I’m still tired from the fight, </i>he rationalized. Taking a hit from Roman Reigns hadn’t been an enjoyable experience, and it would make sense for him to still be bouncing back. He could just never get used to his muscles failing him. He was completely in control of himself, mind, body, and soul. He was a finely-tuned machine. He hated feeling weak.<br/>
He took another chug of water and pushed on. There it was, the adrenaline kicking into gear, the flow of endorphins bursting in his brain. He sped up a bit, reveling in the feeling.<br/>
He had beaten the Shield. Divided and conquered. Now it was time to take Roman down and move on. Easy, he told himself.<i> I’m the best in the world, right? </i>It may have been a tagline, but he believed it. He had to. He couldn’t let three guys trying too hard to prove themselves shake his confidence.<br/>
After fifty reps, he stopped and got to his feet, ready to do some quick stretches and continue, but his vision swirled and he stumbled, falling to his knees. He shook his head, trying to focus. He tried convincing himself it was low blood pressure, but when he went to stand, the floor tipped, and Punk found himself face down in the grungy gym carpet.<br/>
He rubbed his eyes, confused, but his vision didn’t clear. Panic started to hammer away at his chest. His brain scrambled for an explanation, but it was starting to fog over. He put his head in his hands, desperate to regain focus.<br/>
That’s when a voice from behind made his blood run cold. “Well well, looks like Punky Brewster found the surprise we left him.” Punk opened his eyes to see the Shield standing shoulder to shoulder in front of him. Dean knelt over him, and he could smell the overwhelming smell of the lunatic fringe’s sweat and aftershave. “Bet you’re real proud of yourself, huh?” Dean drawled in his ear. “Thought you took down the Shield with your little mind games? Let’s see how smart you feel after we’re done playing with you.”<br/>
Punk couldn’t move his head to examine the shuffling noises all around him. A hand - thin, but strong and clever, <i>Rollins</i> - wrapped around his throat. He tried to fight, but all Punk could do was twitch as the gym melted away into darkness.</p><p>Punk didn’t know how long he was out, but it didn’t seem too long. When he stirred, he looked around and discovered he was in the Shield’s tour bus bedroom. He tried to focus, but he was still dazed, and his sluggish body met resistance when he tried to move. His eyes drifted up to his wrists, which were tied to the headboard above his head, then down to his legs, where a steel bar was holding his knees spread open obscenely wide. Even if his head didn’t feel like it was drifting off his shoulders, he still couldn’t have escaped; he was locked in tight. His stomach flipped when he realized he was in his underwear.<br/>
“Wakey wakey,” a gravelly voice sang, and Dean grabbed a fistful of Punk’s hair. “Welcome to the party, Punky. You like it?”<br/>
Groaning, Punk looked around to see Seth and Roman standing by the bed he realized he was lying on. They were both wearing boxers and smirks. He tried to swallow in spite of his dry throat and rasped, “Seems a little perverted to me.” He wriggled weakly. “And a little extreme. You can’t beat me, so you drug me and tie me up?”<br/>
“He’s still trying to be a smartass,” Seth said, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”<br/>
“No one’s ever accused him of knowing when to shut up,” Roman replied.<br/>
“All this over some lost fights. How delicate are your egos?” Punk tested the knotted rope around his wrist with clumsy fingers and found it secure. He forced his bleary eyes to focus on Roman. “You just beat me. Why are you doing this now? Why bother?”<br/>
Dean grabbed him hard by the jaw and forced their eyes to meet. “This isn’t about goddamn wrestling, you little prick. We can settle that in the ring. This is about the only thing more important than that: brotherhood.”<br/>
Whether he was willing to admit it or not, that sentence struck terror into Phil’s heart. If this wasn’t about fighting, then this was completely off the record. And if Dean was saying anything was more important than wrestling, then he meant it. Dean was one of the few people Punk knew whose passion for the sport rivaled his own.<br/>
“You tried to screw with us,” the dirty blond hissed, fingertips digging into Punk’s cheek. “You tried to humiliate us. You tried to break us down to our very fucking elements and make us feel small. Didn’t you?”<br/>
He couldn’t speak with Dean’s fingers holding his mouth open. He just glared and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t galloping out of his chest.<br/>
There was a hiss and an acrid, burning smell. Punk breathed in a whiff of something skunky and sour and nearly gagged. The other men all laughed.<br/>
Then, dizzyingly fast, Dean had one hand clamped tight over his mouth and one over his nose. Punk’s chest heaved, and he tried to jerk his head out of the lunatic’s grasp, but it was to no avail. His lungs burned and screamed. His ears rung. The panic and loss of air made his head fuzzy.<br/>
And then, a moment of sweet relief, his mouth gasping open - only to have a pair of lips sealed to his. He breathed in a lungful of something hot and bitter.<br/>
Finally, he was released. He coughed hard, watching a massive plume of smoke billow out of his mouth. He gasped and panted, his head spinning. The laughter had grown louder. “Guess he’s not straight edge anymore!” He lifted his streaming eyes to look at his captors and saw Roman take another hit of the joint between his fingertips, smirking. “Grab him again,” Roman ordered.<br/>
Punk tried to fight, but he was helpless. Again his mouth and nose were covered until he was in desperate pain, and again his relief was a mouthful of smoke. He coughed and spluttered again, face red, tears running down his cheeks. “Please,” he rasped, “please, don’t…”<br/>
<i>“Fuck,”</i> Dean groaned. “Hear that, boys? He begs so nice.” He squeezed his crotch through his boxers and licked his lips, staring down at his prey.<br/>
<i>No. This is crazy. They wouldn’t, </i>Punk told himself. The look in Dean’s eyes made him tremble. He didn’t believe himself for a second.<br/>
“Nah. Not far gone enough yet.” Roman’s voice was firm.<br/>
“I agree. He’s so condescending about it. It’s annoying.” Seth leaned down, smiling at Punk. “You really think you’re better than everyone else just because you can’t lighten up and have fun? Sounds like you’re a real prude.”<br/>
Punk nearly said something snarky on instinct. He was saved from himself when he was choked again, this time with Seth delivering the kiss of life and mouthful of weed smoke. He lost count of how many times this happened, each of them taking turns, but he found a little of his fight left him every time. He saw Roman grind out the nub of the roach in an ashtray and was amazed at how much he’d smoked.<br/>
“You’re almost ready for us, baby,” Dean cooed, patting Punk’s cheek. “You gonna give us trouble?”<br/>
Punk swallowed, tongue thick and dry. His lungs felt sore and heavy. “This is… insane…” He coughed and gagged on the taste of ash.<br/>
The members of the Shield looked unimpressed. Dean grabbed Punk’s face, prying his jaw open. The tattooed man tried to struggle out of his grip, but there was nothing he could do; his nose was plugged and his head was tipped back. He heard a cap unscrewing. Roman’s deep voice reverberated in Punk’s chest when he said, “Let’s see if you love it as much as your daddy did. Drink up, princess.”<br/>
The smell of vodka hit his nose before the first drop hit his tongue. It was familiar, the smell of his childhood home and the few parties he’d attended in college. The taste, though, was a shock, burning hot and bitter. His tongue worked to spit it out, but his jaw was open wide, and he had no choice but to swallow several mouthfuls of the poison. When he was released, he gagged and his stomach turned, but nothing came up. “Anything that comes up is going back down,” Dean warned him, and the idea of licking vodka and bile off the floor of the bus kept him from throwing up.<br/>
It wasn’t the taste or the bad memories that really threw him; rather, it was how good his body was starting to feel. His head was stuffed with cotton, his body tingling, weightless, and warm. Panic started to rise in his throat at the realization, faced with images of himself in his father’s shoes: a drunk, an addict, and a miserable fuck who took his shit choices out on everyone else.<br/>
He didn’t have long to focus on the future - a hard slap restored sensation to Punk’s numb face. A groan escaped his lips against his will, and he heard three sighs of satisfaction. “I think he’s ready, boys,” Roman said, eyes burning Punk’s skin wherever they went. The Samoan pulled out a bag and tossed it to Dean, who fished out a large ring gag, a pair of scissors, a bottle of lube, and what looked like a large turkey baster. Head floating, he almost giggled at the sight. “Wait,” he mumbled, and his alarm grew when Dean grabbed the scissors. He tensed his muscles, expecting to be stabbed, but instead felt the back of one of the blades sliding up the side of his thigh. He watched Dean cut teasingly up the side of his boxer briefs. His sluggish brain started to catch up. “No,” he said, voice loud but wavering with fear and effort. “No, please, please, I’ll do anything, okay, I’ll drop the feud, I’ll let you beat the shit out of me, I’ll quit the entire fucking sport, just please, don’t do this…”<br/>
“Shoulda thought of that earlier,” Dean growled, a grin breaking over his face. He switched to Punk’s other side, then tore the fabric off. Punk’s thin cock twitched, slightly hard from the pleasant tingling under his skin. He burned with humiliation when the other men laughed. “Doesn’t seem like you mind too much, princess.”<br/>
“Please,” Punk begged. His vision blurred with tears, and to his horror, they spilled down his cheeks. “Please, no.”<br/>
Dean palmed himself through his boxers again, cock hardening. He swiped his tongue over Punk’s cheek, licking up a stray droplet. “That’s it, baby.” He took the ball gag and fit it into the other man’s mouth, easily overpowering any attempts at resistance. Seth stood behind him, biting his lip with satisfaction.<br/>
“He looks good, Dean.”<br/>
“I’m no rope expert, but I can immobilize a guy alright.” Dean smirked and grabbed Seth by the hair, pulling him in for a blistering kiss. Seth moaned and rubbed the bulge in his friend’s underwear, fingers trailing up the shaft.<br/>
“Don’t get too excited. We still have to play with our new toy,” Roman advised them. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of lube and dipped the baster in, sucking up a good amount before moving between Punk’s spread legs. The smaller man whimpered, eyes wide, and Roman just smiled as he slowly eased the tip of the baster into Punk’s tight ass.<br/>
Punk went rigid at the invasion, but Roman shoved the baster in a couple inches, hard. Punk yelped, legs kicking helplessly as Roman squeezed, flooding him with cold, slippery goo. He shivered when the baster was unceremoniously ripped out of his hole, leaving him oozing slick down his asscheeks. Roman reached out and pressed the pad of his thumb to the puckered entrance, rubbing in a slow circle, massaging lube into the ring of muscle. He chuckled, deep voice washing over Punk in waves of shame. Tingles of pleasure started to creep up the subdued man’s spine. “Look at him, y’all. Just playing with his ass is getting him hard. Told you he’d love it.” Roman leaned over, looking Punk in the eyes with a smirk. “Tell me, baby girl, how many men have used this tight little pussy?”<br/>
Punk closed his eyes, head pounding with mortification. Roman ran a finger along the split of Punk’s firm ass, and the slender man shivered and whined. The laughter around him burned his skin pink. The heat of his humiliation traveled down to his cock, and he could feel it thickening between his thighs. Roman’s broad hand came down on his backside, leaving a print to admire. “Your turn, D,” he said fondly. “I know how much you love breaking ‘em in.”<br/>
“Me too,” Seth murmured, voice sultry.<br/>
Suddenly, Punk found himself upended and slammed down face-first into the mattress. His wrists crossed over each other, and he barely managed to wiggle to his knees when strong hands gripped his ass hard, kneading the muscle until it bruised. Punk buried his face in a pillow, trying to disappear. He tried to escape into thoughts of comic books or music or even women he’d fucked, but Dean’s growl and hard smack to his ass brought him back to earth. His eyes snapped open, watching the action upside down through his spread thighs.<br/>
Dean pulled his cheeks apart and groaned in admiration. “Looks like princess here waxes. Fuck, that’s a pretty sight.” He kicked his boxers off, revealing a thick, uncut cock, hard and red. He spat in his hand and rubbed it hastily over the shaft. He saw Punk’s eyes dart expectantly to the lube, but Dean just laughed. “What do you think we got you ready for? We may not want to leave permanent damage, gorgeous —“ here he slapped Punk’s ass again, watching the firm muscle ripple with glee — “but that doesn’t mean we’re not gonna hurt you.”<br/>
Another slap. Punk jumped, and his face burned at the Shield’s chuckles. The hits came harder, faster, one after the other, painting stripes into his flesh. His ass burned and ached. He knew he’d be bruised the next day, unable to sit down, a reminder of this moment, of being completely at their mercy. Just when tears started to leak into his eyes and he didn’t think he could last much longer, the attack ended and was replaced instead by something hot and blunt at his entrance. He tried to pull away, to find some traction on the sheets, but it was no use. Dean’s fingers tightened, vice-like, on Punk’s hips, and he drove his shaft into Punk’s ass in one quick thrust. He gave the tattooed man beneath him no time to adjust, pounding into him and grunting over the sound of Punk’s scream.<br/>
Punk’s stretched hole burned and ached. Dean used him like an animal, sawing in and out of the tight warmth of Punk’s body. “So fucking good,” Dean grunted in elation, spreading Punk’s ass wide and admiring his pop-can-sized cock thrusting into the tight body beneath him. He forced himself deeper, hands roaming roughly over Punk’s back. “Shit, boys, if I’d known how good our girl here feels, I’d’ve done this years ago!” He snapped his hips forward, driving hard into the bruised flesh of Punk’s ass.<br/>
Punk turned his head, trying to find something else to focus on aside from his spinning head and his shamefully hard dick. He wanted desperately to think about anything other than the building heat in his gut and the delicious way his pain met pleasure when Dean slid into him.<br/>
When he opened his eyes, he found Roman and Seth watching intently. Roman stood behind his friend, hands roaming Seth’s bare chest, mouthing at his neck. Seth whimpered, one arm slung back to grip the Samoan’s hair, the other dragging Roman’s hand down to Seth’s long, dripping cock. “Fuck, Dean,” Seth said breathlessly, doe eyes roaming over Punk’s body. “He looks <i>amazing</i> taking your dick. You were right, he’s made for this.”<br/>
“Doesn’t hurt that our gorgeous boy is the one fucking him either, does it?” Roman hummed in Seth’s ear. The smaller man shivered and shook his head, bucking into Roman’s fist.<br/>
Punk buried his face in the pillow, trying not to think of how big and strong Roman’s hand looked between Seth’s legs. Unbidden, the image of those hands fingering him open and wrapping tight around his shaft popped into Punk’s head. Between the shooting pain in his hips and pelvis, Dean’s punishing thrusts, and Seth’s comments, he was painfully hard. He wanted to close his legs, push Dean away, hide the evidence of how much his body loved the feeling of being used and abused, but he was stuck, ass in the air, legs spread wide, unable to give his dripping cock any relief. He whined, tasting salt in his mouth as tears of humiliation and horror sprang to his eyes. He hoped desperately that they wouldn’t notice, but it was too late. “Look at our little princess’s clit. What a fucking whore,” Roman said, words slicing Punk to ribbons.<br/>
“I don’t think she’s earned the right to cum yet,” Dean snarled. He slapped Punk’s sore ass again and started nipping his way up the smaller man’s spine. Annoyed at the silent treatment he received, he curled his fist into Punk’s hair and pulled his head back. He bit down hard on the tattooed shoulder in front of him and was rewarded with a muffled scream of pain. “Yessss, baby, that’s it,” Dean hissed. “Let it out, let me hear how bad it hurts.”<br/>
And it did; his hole felt torn open, he was being fucked so hard it took his breath away, his muscles were screaming with old and new pangs, and Dean’s teeth clamped down on every bit of flesh he could reach. Even his throbbing cock was becoming painful and over sensitive. Unable to hide his face, Punk couldn’t control the sounds of desperation coming from him. He felt Dean throb inside him with every whimper and heard him sigh with satisfaction. “C’mon, Punky, beg me to rape that pussy!”<br/>
In that moment, Punk remembered the frat party he went to in his sophomore year of college, the one where a friend had convinced him to grab some pills from a bowl and he ended up wandering around campus, gradually losing control of his limbs as whatever he’d taken kicked in. He collapsed to the ground, acutely feeling the earth’s rotation. He heard voices - three or four men, all muttering about the pretty boy who couldn’t hold his booze/weed/etc. He felt hands on him, and he’d just spread his legs wide with need, mewling gratefully when his clothes were torn away from his overheated body and something slipped inside of him. He thought vaguely that he should be embarrassed by the laughter and his own wanton moans, but whatever he’d taken blissed out his brain and body in equal measure. His hips canted up, and his hole accepted whatever was harshly shoved inside it, eventually leading to a messy, earth-shattering orgasm all over his stomach. The other men all laughed at that, one of them wiping their hand through the pool of semen and wiping it across his face. It was all-consuming and delicious — until he woke up sick and sore the next morning, still filled with other men’s cum. He didn’t report it, and he tried not to think about it. He just stopped going to parties, and he eventually dropped out, happy to leave school and his brief foray into drugs behind. Like other painful and confusing memories s he couldn’t stand to examine, the only time he thought about it was during the occasional shameful masturbation session, his thoughts straying from women in comic books and posters to strange, faceless men using him while he stupidly begged to be fucked (by fingers, by cocks, by bottles, anything to fill him up). He throbbed whenever he thought of how sore his ass and throat had been for days after.<br/>
He only told one person about it, once. It was late and he was exhausted and loopy from sleep deprivation and cold medicine, and Cena had been nice enough to practically drag him into his hotel room. Stupidly, Punk had tried to thank him, stumbling over his words. “For what?” John had asked with a chuckle.<br/>
“I dunno. Not fucking with me when I’m vulnerable.”<br/>
“Who would do that?”<br/>
And the story had come spilling out, details that he thought he’d forgotten coming back to life, able to imagine so clearly the tickling of grass on his back and thighs, the smell of the grounds after dark, the feeling of a dick buried in him to the hilt. He told John the entire humiliating story, too tired to be embarrassed. When he looked at his coworker, he found John frowning, scanning his face for something. “You were raped, Phil,” he said, and it felt like a punch to the gut. <i>What if I liked it?</i> Punk wanted to ask, but he stayed silent, too confused and afraid of the answer to speak.<br/>
If that had been rape, then it hadn’t been the only time, and what Dean was doing to him then had to be. The word filled him with shame and helplessness, and the memory of being gangbanged in the grass only filled him with more confusing, burning, destructive need. He could feel himself coming apart at the seams, being broken down. His reaction to the brutal humiliation scared him. It wasn’t just that it made him hard or that it felt good - a part of him felt clarified, fulfilled.<br/>
Dean leaned over him, breathing raggedly in Punk’s ear, thrusts growing faster, cock shifting and brushing a spot inside the smaller man that made his vision go white. Punk’s dick dripped onto his trembling thighs. In spite of the pain, he wanted to rut back against Dean, taking everything the other man had to give. “I could’ve just beaten the fuck out of you, you know,” Dean hissed. He reached an arm around Punk’s injured ribs, pulling him tight. It was painful and intimate all at once, his fingers stroking the tattoo on Punk’s stomach tenderly. “But that would’ve been a waste. You’re just so pretty. I could never deny myself a good piece of ass… And Sethie’s been looking forward to having someone to top.” He grasped Punk’s hair harder, craning his neck to the side. “Look how bad he wants you.”<br/>
Seth did, in fact, look devastated by lust. He rocked into Roman’s hand, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He nibbled his lip, tweaking one of his nipples and tugging Roman’s hair. The big Samoan licked and nipped at Seth’s neck, pulling him back against his chest and smirking at Punk over Seth’s shoulder. Punk hated himself for wondering how it would feel to run his tongue over that intricate sleeve tattoo. He fought against the spreader bar to close his legs and hide, but all he could do was melt under their gaze. He gasped when Dean nibbled his ear, and the blond’s thrusts grew deeper and more staccato by the second. Dean pounded away sloppily, and his only warning was a grunted, “Gonna fill you up, Punky,” before he drove in deep.<br/>
When he felt Dean’s thick cock twitch inside him, Punk’s eyes rolled back. He was filled with liquid heat, making him shiver. Seth and Roman both groaned appreciatively, especially when Dean pulled out. The lunatic fringe just scowled and wiped his dick on Punk’s thigh.<br/>
<i>Maybe it’s over,</i> Punk told himself, going perfectly still. He pressed his face into the sheets, trying to slow his breathing and will his body — especially his throbbing dick — to relax. <i>He came. Maybe now they’ll dump me back at my bus and I can forget all this. </i><br/>
Instead, long, clever fingers trailed over the bruises and welts on his asscheeks, then slowly spread them open. A stream of cum poured from his hole and ran down his balls. He let out a decidedly pathetic, needy squeak when the tip of a tongue circled his rim. “Nnngh, he’s absolutely delicious,” he heard Seth sigh from behind him, elated. “I could eat him out for hours, especially with Dean’s cum in him. You have to taste him.”<br/>
“Later, baby,” Roman chuckled gently. “If you wanna put your dick in this little fucktoy, you should do it soon before anyone notices he’s gone. Don’t worry, we can always grab him again.”<br/>
The words chilled Punk to the bone. He thought quickly of all the many ways he could be drugged/subdued/knocked out, and it made his stomach turn. They hadn’t even finished their first round of torture, and they were already planning a second one. <i>Maybe they’ll beat you up and hogtie you, </i>a nastily seductive voice whispered in his ear.<i> Drag you to the locker room showers. Leave you naked and unconscious on the tile. I bet they’d call the entire roster to come look at you. Everyone wants revenge on CM Punk for something… You’d end up on your knees and taking superstars in both ends whether you like it or not. </i><br/>
The thought of waking up to a roster-wide gang rape sent a shock of arousal so undeniably strong through Punk’s body that he lost his breath. He tried to shake it away and regain his composure, but Seth’s tongue returned, licking up the cleft of Punk’s firm backside. The strong, pointed tip dipped inside him, lapping at the seemingly endless drip of semen Dean had left behind, and Punk nearly sobbed when Seth pulled away. <i>Don’t open your eyes,</i> he told himself. <i>That makes it real.</i> But the feeling of the bed dipping on either side of him and the warmth of Roman and Dean’s bodies just out of reach felt real enough already. With the headboard in front of him, Seth behind him, and Dean and Roman flanking him, Punk was completely surrounded.<br/>
Seth hummed in quiet disappointment. His fingers gently stroked over Punk’s skin - back, shoulders, sides, hips, thighs, butt, stomach - butterfly-light and maddening. “So much to do, but so little time. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to use like this.” He nibbled softly at the burning skin of Punk’s cheek. Punk whined into the mattress, but Seth ignored him. He was clearly addressing Roman and Dean, apparently completely disinterested in the fact that his rival could hear him. He spoke as if Punk was a brainless sex doll without thoughts or feelings, or at least any that mattered, and Punk hated the way it made his whole body flush with want. “I wanna play with him so bad,” Seth murmured, tracing Punk’s tattoos with his fingertips. “I wanna lick him until he’s sobbing, burn him, whip him, play with his prostate until he begs me to pound something,<i> anything</i> into that slutty hole… But I don’t think I have the patience.”<br/>
“Sounds like we’ll just have to do this again,” Dean said. He ran the backs of his knuckles gently over Punk’s jaw.<br/>
The idea made the older superstar’s head spin. He felt completely helpless, a rabbit surrounded by foxes. He could run, he could try to avoid them, but something told him that he would end up right back where he was, on his knees for the Shield. They would never let him go, not really. The peace that brought him scared him.<br/>
“He’s so wet,” Seth marveled. “Look.” He swiped a finger along Punk’s thigh, coming away with sticky precum from his needy cock.<br/>
A strong hand tugged Punk’s hair. “Open your eyes, princess. Look how good Dean’s big dick made you feel,” Roman murmured in his ear, and Punk found himself obeying. He looked down at Seth’s finger, shining with slick.<br/>
“Cock whore,” Dean added, but his voice was affectionate. He took a firm hold of Punk’s chin, looking into his eyes. “Bet you’ve been waiting for this, huh? Is that why you’ve been acting out? Trying to get us to tie you up and play with your cunt?”<br/>
Punk’s head swam. He jumped when Seth’s fingers were shoved in his mouth, rubbing thick, salty precum onto his tongue. He whined and struggled to swallow it with his jaw wrenched open by the ring gag.<br/>
“I won’t lie,” Seth said, retreating again, warm hands rubbing the backs of Punk’s thighs, “I love how much he’s loving it. I know you wanted him to hate it, Dean, but…” He lazily ghosted a finger over the very tip of Punk’s cockhead, making the other man choke out a moan that could never be confused for one of agony. “He’s so<i> responsive.”</i><br/>
Another glancing touch to the tip of his dick, and another shot of electric desire ran through Punk’s body. He stared ahead blindly, tears of humiliation and want dripping down his face. “Yesss, baby,” Dean chuckled. “Do you want Sethie to make you cum?”<br/>
His cock jumped between his legs, and his captors laughed. Desperate, he shook his head, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.<br/>
“No?” There was a sick smile in Roman’s voice. Seth eased two fingers into his prey’s sore ass, reveling in the tightness that remained in spite of Dean’s assault. His nimble digits worked softly, and the teasing after so much brutal force was starting to dissolve Punk’s mind, his sobs of mortification gradually warping into mews of need, especially when Seth would gently brush over the bundle of nerves inside of him. “Well, if princess doesn’t want you to make her cum, baby,” Roman advises Seth, “then give her what she wants.”<br/>
Punk’s overheated brain scrambled in panic, and he was surprised when the head of Seth’s beautiful dick pressed inside of him. Seth went torturously slow, gripping handfuls of Punk’s tight ass to steady him. “So tight,” he breathed. “Dean, I can’t believe you fit. He’s squeezing me so hard it almost hurts.”<br/>
“You know me,” Dean replied, “I always make it fit.” He fisted a hand in Punk’s hair, tugging.<br/>
Inch by inch, Seth’s long cock sank deep into Punk, wearing away his resistance. The curdling heat in his stomach already had his hips twitching, trying unconsciously to press Seth in deeper, faster. Seth noticed and purred with satisfaction. “Needy. You could’ve been cumming for me if you’d behaved.” He wrapped a hand around Punk’s neglected cock, and Punk let out a pornstar groan, rocking in search for friction. Two more pairs of hands joined Seth’s, one holding Punk’s shoulders to the mattress, the other stilling his hips. Seth spanked him and tutted in disapproval. “Ah ah ah! You behave yourself,” Roman warned him. “You could have my boy pounding your pussy while you cum all over his hand, but you said no.” Finally, Seth was fully sheathed inside him, perfectly still aside from the hand still lazily stroking his shaft, touch feather-light. “So you’re gonna wait until I tell you you’re allowed to cum. Understand?”<br/>
He didn’t. Punk’s brain was starting to fizzle out, weakened by a potent combination of weed, booze, and dick. His will to resist was nearly gone. He thought he was going to go crazy, his skin hot and tingling, drowning in pain and desire. His hole twitched greedily. <i>Move,</i> his feverish thoughts begged. <i>Move. Fuck me. Use me. Rape me. Cum in me. Make me your bitch. Call me a faggot. Claim me ruin me own me anything just fuck me fuck me fuck me -</i><br/>
Punk’s hips flexed pathetically in Roman’s grasp. “What a fucked up mess,” Roman said, contempt written all over his handsome face. “We’re trying to torture him, and he loves it. He’s covered in precum just from Dean raping his ass.”<br/>
“Nah,” Dean said confidently, “can’t rape the willing. He’s just been waiting for it. Haven’t you, you fuckin’ cum whore?” When silence followed, he slapped Punk hard across the face. “I asked you a question, slut. I expect an answer.”<br/>
Punk felt like his brain was leaking out of his ears. Dumbly, brain entirely focused on trying to find some satisfaction, he nodded. Seth spanked him, and he just whined and pressed himself harder against Seth’s hips, searching for friction.<br/>
Slowly, Seth pulled back until only the head of his dick was inside Punk. He sighed, fingers still delicately playing with Punk’s cock. “He feels so good,” he told Roman, biting his lip, eyes drifting closed. “It’s been so long since I’ve done this… I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold off.”<br/>
“Don’t worry about trying to torment him too much.” Roman leaned into Seth for a quick kiss. “You’ve earned this. Enjoy yourself.”<br/>
Seth pushed back in, starting a glacial rhythm. Punk wriggled desperately, trying to drive him in deep and hard, but he was still being held in place by all three men. He finally gave up, going limp and surrendering to the feeling.<br/>
“There we go. Good.” Seth’s movements sped up a touch, and Punk moaned gratefully, burying his face in a pillow and screwing his eyes closed in an effort to focus on his body. His insides had dissolved into marshmallow fluff. He burned all over, but between his arousal and the intoxication, all of his pain morphed and melted into pleasure. His brain was stuck on a loop, repeating “yes” and “please” and “more.” The three strong pairs of hands on him felt like anchors, holding him down in reality so his entire self didn’t unravel. Seth’s deep, thorough thrusts sent shockwaves up his spine.<br/>
One of Roman’s heavy hands shifted, moving down over Punk’s soft stomach to brush over the head of Punk’s cock. His thumb rubbed against the slit gently, then ran it up the underside of the shaft, collecting a pool of precum. “Look how wet you are, princess,” he said softly, and Punk shuddered when he cracked an eye open to see it dripping down the side of Roman’s thumb. The Samoan licked it up, smirking, and Punk keened softly, mouth watering.<br/>
Seth groaned loudly, his hips stuttering. “God, Ro,” he mumbled, and he started fucking Punk in earnest, hard and steady. He shifted angles until Punk gasped and scrabbled at the sheets, then started relentlessly pounding against the sensitive spot inside the smaller man with a grin.<br/>
Punk wiggled helplessly, trying to spread his legs wider, not knowing what he wanted aside from <i>more. </i>Drool ran down his chin. He knew he looked like an airheaded fuckdoll, begging for more even while being used, and he reveled in the feeling. How Seth expected him not to cum, he had no idea; between Seth and Roman teasing his cock and the careful assault on his prostate, Punk could feel his muscles starting to tighten, an electric buzz building in the pit of his stomach. His breath came out in gasping whines. “Is that feeling good, baby?” Seth asked him sweetly, and he nodded, silently pleading for release.<br/>
Instead, the architect’s thumb, forefinger, and middle finger tickled at the head of Punk’s dick. He tried to hump into the touch, but was cut off by Seth gently but firmly squeezing the head. Almost instantly, the tingling in his pelvis receded. He let out a sob of confusion and frustration, and Seth said, “Sorry, baby, but you said you didn’t want me to make you cum.”<br/>
Tears of self-hatred and desperation flowed easily down Punk’s cheeks. He wailed at the agony of being stretched open and overburdened with pleasure. The hands on his cock were gone, and Seth’s thrusts were less targeted and intentional. Punk realized he’d only been making him feel good to prove he could. After Punk’s failed orgasm, Seth’s interest in his pleasure dropped, and he’d started using the tattooed superstar remorselessly, strokes hard and fast. “Feels so good,” Seth gasped, throwing his head back, fingers tightening on Punk’s hips. “Gotta do this again… Wanna really make him squirm for me, get him nice and ready for you…” He grabbed a handful of bruised flesh, biting his bottom lip. “Ro - Dean -“<br/>
“Yes, baby boy.” Roman’s  voice was as deep and dangerous as dark woods at night. “Give him your cum, gorgeous.” To emphasize the point, Dean leaned over and landed a swat on Seth’s ass. That was all it took for Seth to let out a broken cry, driving in and shooting deep. It seemed to last forever, his fingers digging into his prey’s skin, his cock twitching. Punk took it with a weak whimper. His head was filled with a swirl of unspoken words <i>(yes good more please thank you thank you thank you please please yes) </i>and a sense of satisfaction. More cum dripped out of him when Seth pulled out, and he didn’t know if he wanted it to stop because he was humiliated or because he wanted to keep as much in him as he could for as long as he could. Gentle fingers grazed up the inside of his thigh, swiping through cum before being pushed into his mouth. His tongue lapped at them lazily.<br/>
Roman stood, and Seth flopped down to take his place, chest and neck flushed crimson and shining with sweat. Punk marveled at how wrecked he looked when he’d been so in control. He throbbed between his legs at Seth’s dedication, his ability to stay so steady. (Not like himself, not desperate and needy, not a drooling whore who had to be forced to hold his climax back like a dumb animal.) Seth smiled at him almost kindly.<br/>
Punk yelped when he was suddenly flipped and found himself on his back, Roman looming over him. His still-leaking cock was on display, and when he couldn’t close his legs, Punk squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Roman’s reaction. To his surprise, he felt hands wrapping around his head and unbuckling the gag, sliding the ring out carefully. He worked his sore jaw and swallowed hard, the taste of Dean and Seth on his tongue. “Open your eyes,” a voice from above him ordered, and he obeyed with a shiver.<br/>
Roman’s handsome face was curled in a sneer. Cold, dark eyes roamed over his quarry. He was still in his dark boxers, but the outline of his cock was intimidating. He dragged a fingertip softly over the underside of Punk’s dick, making it twitch and drawing a gasp from the straight edge superstar. “God, look at you,” he said, equal parts mocking and appreciative. He started playing with himself through the fabric of his underwear, examining Punk’s tattooed form. “It really took nothing to break you down. Tie you up and shove something in your ass, and you’ll do anything. Fucking spineless slut. You’d better be a good fucktoy, because you sure as shit aren’t good for anything else.”<br/>
<i>I know, </i>Punk wanted to say. <i>I know. But I’ll be good for you, I promise. </i><br/>
Two of Roman’s thick fingers were shoved unceremoniously into Punk’s ass, and he yelped at the pain, a sound that turned into a strangled whine when fingertips ghosted over his prostate. “Find your G-spot, princess?” Roman asked, gently brushing over it again. It wasn’t enough pressure for Punk to even hope for release, but it made his head spin and his hips cant up, trying to drive the Samoan’s fingers deeper. Roman withdrew, leaving Punk shaking and feverish  and wanting, again, to cry.<br/>
Roman brought a hand up to firmly grab Punk’s chin, forcing the smaller man to meet his dark eyes. “Poor, stupid cum dump. I actually feel bad for not doing this earlier. You must’ve been dreaming of someone doing this to you for months, just wishing someone would see past your arrogant bullshit and bend you over in the showers. Is that why you act like such a badass with all your ‘best in the world, no one can touch me, nothing will ever bother me’ shit? Because you’re scared everyone will know you’re actually just a little bitch who needs a man to come breed your little pussy?”<br/>
Roman kicked his boxers away, and Punk gasped at the cock between his legs. It was bigger than anything he’d ever taken, at least eight inches and so thick Punk idly wondered if he could fit it in his mouth. Roman stroked himself, smearing the pearly bead of precum on the head down to the shaft. “It feels even bigger than it looks,” Dean whispered in Punk’s ear, and the other man’s pulse spiked in fear and arousal. Dean’s fingers kneaded the inside of Punk’s thigh roughly, leaving more marks in his wake.<br/>
It was more shocking than painful when Roman slapped the helpless man below him across the face. “I asked you a question,” he growled. “Answer me. Do you act like a little fucking brat because you want someone to fill you up?”<br/>
“I —“ Punk coughed, swallowed, tried again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”<br/>
“You really are stupid. I can’t believe I took your gag out to listen to this. Pathetic.” Roman slapped the inside of Punk’s thigh hard, leaving a handprint. The tattooed superstar just moaned softly. “No wonder you got into this business, princess. You’re not just a cum slut, but a pain slut too, huh? So fucking typical.” He twisted one of Punk’s nipples hard and laughed at the shaky cry it earned him. “You know, I was disappointed at first by how easy it was. Don’t get me wrong, I loved watching you beg and sob while my boy opened you up. You look gorgeous when you cry.” He ran a finger over a dry tear track on Punk’s face. “But then when you got into it… That’s when I knew we had something special.  Because you love it, don’t you?” His hand trailed down Punk’s body, featherlight and avoiding anywhere that might provide any satisfaction or relief. His thumb slipped up the crack of Punk’s ass and rubbed gently against his hole, making Punk groan and try to push his finger inside. Roman stayed steady, teasing. “You love it, and you hate that about yourself. You need it like water. What’s the problem? Can’t admit you’re a little faggot who loves getting his ass used? Or maybe you’re just humiliated because you love being gang raped by your three biggest enemies. But you hate yourself for this. You’ll never be able to stop thinking about how good this felt and how much you wish someone would do it to you every day. And it’s going to <i>destroy </i>you.”<br/>
Tears pushed at the back of Punk’s aching eyes. <i>He’s right, fuck, he’s right… </i><br/>
Roman took his huge cock in hand, pressing the head against Punk’s entrance. The straight edge superstar squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Ah, ah,” Roman corrected him softly. “Look at me, Punk. Right in my eyes.”<br/>
Punk obeyed without hesitation, and Roman smiled at him. “See? Doesn’t it feel so good to do what you’re told?” His grin turned cold. “Now. Beg me.”<br/>
“Don’t,” the tattooed man croaked, but a slap to his thigh silenced him.<br/>
“No. I want you to beg me to fuck you. I want you to beg me to let you cum. I want you to tell me how much you liked having my boys cum in you.” He rubbed the head of his dick against Punk’s hole again, enjoying the whine he tore from his prey’s throat. “C’mon, princess. Tell me how bad you want this big fat cock to destroy your pussy, or I’ll use your mouth and kick you out all hard and desperate. You don’t want that, do you? Walking around here drunk, high, naked, and dripping cum for everyone to see?” He grabbed Punk’s thighs, kneading his flesh hard. “Don’t you want Daddy to take care of you?”<br/>
A surge of longing and need so powerful it made his chest hurt ran through Punk’s body. Tears of shame prickled at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t understand why, but he swallowed hard and croaked, “Yes.”<br/>
He expected laughter and more mockery, but none came. Instead, the trio was silent, and the air was thick. Seth’s fingers started stroking the inside of his thigh gently. Dean’s lips began working on his neck. His breath came out in shaky gasps. Roman gripped his chin firmly, dark eyes locked on his. “Tell me.”<br/>
Punk wanted to stop, to keep whatever small scrap of dignity he may still have left, but he was powerless over his body, the alcohol and pot boiling his brain down to its most primal state. He was nothing but nerves and blood and heat and lust. “Please, please, I need you to fuck me.” His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar to his ears. “I - fuck, goddammit, it’s been such a long time and I need this, I need something inside me. Just use me, I don’t care how, treat me like a stupid fucking cum dump. Dean and Seth felt so fucking good, their cocks are amazing, but I need more, I can’t…” He blinked back the blurriness in his eyes, trembling. “I need to cum on that big, beautiful dick. I need to be ruined. I need to be owned. Please, fuck me, Daddy.”<br/>
Dean growled, licking at the shell of Punk’s ear while Seth mouthed at one of his hard nipples. Roman just ran his hands over the mottled thighs around his hips and looked down at his quarry, face inscrutable. After a second, he reached over into the nightstand and withdrew another joint. “I want you to show me.” His deep voice rumbled through the tattooed man’s body, lighting his nerves on fire. “Show me what you’ll do to have me inside you.”<br/>
Punk’s stomach dropped. “No. I can’t. Please…”<br/>
Roman’s hands disappeared, as did his cock. The smaller man let out a wrecked sob. The Samoan held the joint to Punk’s lips. “You have to be a good girl if you want Daddy to fuck you. If you say no, we’re tossing your ass out. Your choice.”<br/>
Punk took a steadying breath, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the feeling of Dean and Seth idly caressing him. Tentatively, he parted his lips, taking the butt of the joint between them. He could feel Roman beaming down at him. “That’s it, baby.” A flick, a hiss, a lick of heat on the tip of his nose. “Suck, princess.” He inhaled deeply. Immediately, it felt wrong -- his lips, throat, and lungs burned so badly he thought he was going to die. A big hand settled over his mouth and nose. “Hold it for me. You can do it. Hold it.”<br/>
The encouragement settled his fears. Dutifully, he held his breath as long as he could, exhaling in a burst of coughs. Someone’s hand smoothed back his hair, and a deep voice mumbled praises in his ear. The strange tenderness of it made him melt. He took a few more puffs, obediently sucking down smoke when he was told and reveling in the way it pleased his captors.<br/>
“One more thing, my pretty little princess,” Roman said, voice surprisingly fond. Punk was foolishly excited until he opened his eyes and saw the vodka in Roman’s hand. His stomach turned, bile rising in his throat. Fear must have shown on his face, because Roman’s expression turned stern. “This isn’t a negotiation, slut. Open your mouth, or you don’t get my cock.”<br/>
Punk’s disgust and humiliation couldn’t hold a candle to the overwhelming need between his legs. He parted his lips and waited as the Samoan took a big swig, leaned over him, and spit a generous swallow of vodka into his mouth. Punk tried to ignore the way it made his dick twitch to drink down Roman’s spit. Seth groaned deeply, kissing and nipping the skull on Punk’s chest. “There we are,” Roman cooed, dropping a chaste kiss on the top of Punk’s head. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”<br/>
A sob tore its way out of Punk’s throat. Finally, something like sympathy crept into Roman’s dark eyes, and he pressed the tip of his dick into the smaller man.<br/>
Punk wasn’t exactly a godly man, but he swore he was having a religious experience. Just the head stretched him, and the exquisite burn as the shaft sank in inch by inch left him a panting and moaning mess. Dean was mumbling in his ear between sharp nips to his jaw, but he couldn’t understand any of the words. It felt like an eternity before he felt soft pubic hair brushing against his sore ass. “Oh, baby, look at you,” Seth murmured, enraptured, and he opened his eyes, finding his normally-flat stomach just slightly puffed by Roman’s girth. He ran his fingers over the bump, awestruck. He imagined it was how he would look if he were somehow a few months pregnant, and he throbbed at the idea.<br/>
Roman pulled back, leaving Punk tragically empty before driving back in. His strokes were measured, hard but slow, and Punk melted underneath him. He grabbed the spreader bar and shoved the older man’s legs over his head, bending the agile superstar double to fuck him deeper. His cock grazed Punk’s prostate, teasing but offering no relief, and Roman smirked with pride at the drop of precum that dripped from Punk’s cock onto his chest. Seth greedily licked it up.<br/>
“Fuck, princess, you’re so tight,” Roman groaned, pounding into the velvet heat of the body beneath him. “So pretty and needy and obedient. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to get fucked by bigger, stronger men.” He gritted his teeth when he felt Punk twitch around him. “I wanted to take my time with you, but your hole is just so sweet, and I’ve been watching my boys take you apart for so long.” He shifted until the straight edge superstar let out a strangled cry. “This what you want, Punky? You wanna make Daddy cum?”<br/>
<i>Yes yes yes yes yes please yes. </i><br/>
Roman’s thrusts quickened, the entire shaft dragging across Punk’s prostate. The tattooed superstar tried to bury his face in the pillow beside him, but Dean’s hand in his hair dragged him back, holding him face-to-face with the man drilling into him. “Ah ah ah,” Roman tutted, “I want you to look at me. Right in the eyes. I wanna watch.”<br/>
Punk’s skin burned under those cold dark eyes, adding to the building pressure in the pit of his stomach. Shockwaves of pleasure rolled through him with every sharp, targeted thrust. Precum pooled, sticky and warm, on his stomach and chest. He became dimly aware of the constant babble of moans and pleas slurring from between his lips. Roman grinned, pleased. “I wonder who broke you,” he panted, defined muscles twitching with effort. He fucked like a machine, fast and hard and unrelenting, his cock rubbing constantly against Punk’s sensitive prostate. “You have to tell me who fucked you up so bad that you like this so much. I wanna send them flowers.” His composure, somehow, didn’t slip, even when his eyes drifted closed and he moaned, “You were right — best in the fucking world…”<br/>
Helplessly, Punk could feel himself starting to unravel, pleasure building to a blinding height. “Please,” he stammered, “Daddy, please, can I…?”<br/>
A sharp slap awoke the nerves in his face, and a strong hand wrapped around his throat -- not hard enough to cut off his air supply, but enough to feel dangerous. “Cum, princess,” a deep voice rumbled above him, and that was all it took for him to tumble over the edge, pain and pressure and pleasure blurring together until it felt so good he was nearly numb. White lights popped in his eyes, and with Roman’s movements growing faster and more uneven, the waves of rapture extended, drawn out to the edge of agony. He couldn’t remember ever cumming so long or so hard, but he was still at the height of ecstasy when Roman let out a satisfied roar and buried himself deep, pumping his seed into his victim. It wasn’t until after the leader of the Shield had shot the last of his load and slumped forward, spent, that Punk’s senses returned to his jellied body.<br/>
Roman pulled out of Punk’s still-twitching hole, wiping himself off on the inside of the still-bruised thigh in front of him. He dropped the spreader bar, and Punk collapsed to the mattress, shaking, a puddle of his own shame cooling on his stomach. He hoped, stupidly, that one of them might take pity on him and wipe it off, but it seemed a spell had been broken. Dean and Seth left his sides. He felt cold and oddly lonely, even as his body melted into boneless comfort.<br/>
“Let him go and get him dressed.” The tenderness that had blunted the edges of Roman’s cruelty just moments before was gone. The Samoan wouldn’t even look at him. An ache formed deep in his chest, spreading out to his fingertips. His arms and legs were released, and his clothes were tossed at him. His body still wasn’t listening to him; he gripped his underwear in useless fingers and tried to navigate them over his ankles. He could feel the three men glaring at him, unimpressed, and managed to fumble into the garment after minutes of effort. He lay there, panting, feeling like he’d just run ten miles instead of trying to get dressed. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean scowled, and Punk had to suppress the urge to cry.<br/>
“This is ridiculous. Let’s just knock him out and bring him home,” Seth suggested.<br/>
<i>No,</i> Punk tried to say, but his tongue felt thick and limp in his mouth. He had nearly forgotten he was a prisoner, basking in the temporary affection, connection, <i>usefulness</i> that came with being fucked, but he was a wounded animal being circled by lions.<br/>
“Good idea.” Roman grabbed Punk hard by the hair and yanked him to his knees. Punk’s terrified hazel eyes searched the faces of the Shield for mercy and found nothing. He shivered, wanting so badly to be dressed and warm, and for something soft. Not kindness, he didn’t think he wanted that or could even live with it, but an acknowledgment, a look, maybe even a sign of a job well-done, but there was nothing except blank faces and a sharp blow to the back of his head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Punk realizes he can escape the Shield, but not his own mind.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he came to, Punk was aware of three things: he was in his own bed, it was sometime in the afternoon, and his entire body <i>hurt. </i><br/>At first, he was convinced the events of the previous night were a dream, chalking the soreness up to a tough match, but when he looked down at his thighs, his heart skipped at the mottled bruises there. Slowly, he crawled out of bed and staggered to the mirror hanging on the back of his door. <br/>His body was a<i> mess.</i> The softness to his flesh that gave him his agility in the ring made him bruise easily, and his thighs and hips were stained deep red, purple, and blue. Livid bite marks stood out in his neck, chest, and stomach. His underwear was damp. He smelled like cum, sweat, and pot smoke. As brutal as the damage to his body looked, that was at least something he was used to; his body was battered almost every day. It was the look on his face that unsettled him. He was pale and gaunt. His eyes, normally clever and intense, looked dead. He didn’t quite recognize himself. <br/>He kicked off his underwear and dragged himself to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, scraping away the taste of smoke and booze. He had to pause more than once to puke up dark yellow bile into the sink. He swallowed a couple aspirin for his pounding headache and stuck his head under the faucet, gulping down water until the emptiness in his stomach abated. He climbed into his shower and turned on the cold water. It shocked his brain to life and made his muscles scream, but he waited until his skin was numb to turn on the warm water. He pressed his forehead to the shower wall and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. <br/>He went through the night before: the gym, the drugged water, the mockery and torment, Dean, Seth, Roman. His cock was half-hard once he’d finished. He shivered, disgusted with himself. He turned the heat up higher, letting the water boil his skin bright red and burn the welts on his ass. He scrubbed his palm over his chest, dried cum melting away. He felt like he was destroying evidence, like he was hiding condoms in his pillowcase as a teenager. He snatched a bottle of soap off the shelf and poured out a palmful, smearing it over his stomach, hips, and thighs. He scrubbed hard, washing away the smell of panicked sweat. The way he cleaned his dick was perfunctory, not wanting to linger or feel good. He caught sight of clear finger marks on his thigh and noted how big they looked. <br/>His stomach turned. <i>Just don’t think about it. You can do that. You’re good at it. Just focus on anything else. </i><br/>But there <i>wasn’t</i> anything else. Not that he could think of. It wasn’t close to the only time a man had used him against his will, but none of the other attacks had been so cruel. The level of humiliation and physical agony was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He’d been hazed, and he’d been on the receiving end of a few vengeful fucks, but it was easy for him to drown those memories out, only crossing his mind during late-night masturbation sessions when he was half out of his mind with sleep deprivation. No one else had ever so thoroughly pinpointed every weakness within him and then made him thank them for it. No one had ever so brutally invaded his body, mind, and soul. He knew how it felt to be violated, but this went beyond that. He felt like he’d been plucked apart and ground into the dirt. He felt destroyed. <br/>He let out a pained hiss when his palms smoothed over his rear. The soap and light pressure stung. He didn’t have to look to know his ass probably looked like a mess of welts. He heard Dean in his head, reminding him that it would be weeks before he could move without thinking about the Shield. <br/>Punk’s fingers gently brushed over his entrance. He whimpered, the sound of it magnified by the shower. He could tell he was still wet inside, stained with lube and cum. <i>Maybe they’re coming back,</i> he suddenly thought.<i> They said they’re coming back.</i> He imagined being tackled in his own bus, forced to the floor, cocks shoved into his used body. <i>“Her pussy is still dripping for us,”</i> he imagined Roman saying, a smirk on his handsome face, fingers stuffed roughly into Punk’s aching hole. His stomach flipped with a jolt of terror and arousal. <br/>Punk sank to the floor, breathing fast and heavy. His limbs were crumpling paper. He felt dehydrated, starved, feverish. He tucked his head between his knees and tried to swallow the panic threatening to poison every inch of him. “Just stop,” he whispered to himself, eyes clenched shut. He clutched at one of his sore, raw wrists, trying to focus on the pain. “Just stop thinking about it. It’s not that hard.”<br/>But it was. There were very few things that had ever brought him so low, made him so ashamed and disgusted and hopeless, but nothing had ever made him want more like that. <br/>He’d had the odd one-night stand with men when he was younger and “experimenting.” It wasn’t like there were a ton of other options on the road at times. But, he reminded himself, they’d been curiosities, adventures he could keep the memories of without the danger of feelings or commitments. At a certain point, he’d decided he was done with that, and he’d moved on. He slept with women. He’d dated women. Hell, he’d seriously dated women, beautiful ones, feminine ones with soft lips and long hair and who smelled like powder. He wasn’t… whatever the Shield thought he was. He was a normal man. So what if his dick was hard, so what if there was peace somewhere beneath the devastation, so fucking what? He was <i>normal, </i>goddammit. <br/>And he would keep being normal. He’d shove this experience into a box in his brain with the rest of them and forget about it. He’d compartmentalize. He was good at that.<br/>He felt numb. He slapped his cheek hard, over and over until his nerves connected to his brain. He kept his mind deliberately blank and crawled to his feet, switching off the water. Steam rolled off his reddened skin. He scrubbed himself down hard with a towel, trying to rid himself of any lingering reminders, but it was impossible. He could still feel them inside him. He felt vulnerable and exhausted. <br/>Headache dulled, Punk limped back to bed. He shuddered with disgust when he saw a wet spot on the sheets where he’d been laying, smelling faintly of salt and ammonia. He clenched his jaw and swallowed the water creeping back up his throat. Furious, he snatched the sheets off the bed and threw them in the hamper. He grabbed his heavy comforter, not caring that he would undoubtedly overheat, and cocooned himself in it tightly. He curled into a ball, body throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and closed his eyes. He hoped sleep would come quickly, give him a break from living in his body. <br/>A series of thumps sounded from the front door. Punk grunted, snuggling deeper into his blankets and waiting for the noise to end. <br/>When it finally did, it was replaced by a familiar voice. “Punk? Hey, are you in there? Come on, man, don’t tell me you’re still sleeping!”<br/>The straight edge superstar sat up straight, cold fear paralyzing his lungs. There was more pounding. “Bro, get up! You have a show!”<br/><i>“Fuck.”</i> It came out louder than intended, and Punk knew the man outside had heard him. Throwing off his blanket, he pulled on a pair of sweats and a shirt and went to the door, scowl firmly in place. He didn’t expect to intimidate the visitor much, but he hoped he could at least get him to leave. He pushed the door open, snarling, “Didn’t know you were my designated wake-up call.”<br/>John Cena just smiled his easy Ken-doll smile and offered up a box of donuts and two coffees. “I’m off tonight. Thought you might wanna eat before you fight. I don’t know how you run all night on an empty stomach.”<br/>Just the thought of food made Punk’s skin prickle. John must have noticed, because he frowned and leaned in, calm blue eyes evaluating the man before him. “You okay? You’re pale.”<br/>Punk may have liked John, might’ve even gone so far as to call him one of his very few friends, but he had no interest in sharing one of the most devastating experiences of his life with the leader of the Cenation. “‘M sick,” he mumbled. “Think it’s the stomach flu.”<br/>“Oh. Damn.” John looked genuinely disappointed. The sincerity in his voice made Punk itch. “Need me to call in for you? No offense, but there’s no way you can wrestle right now.”<br/>Punk realized he was leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He thought about arguing. He loved fighting, lived for it. It took him to another world, one where he had complete control. Even when he lost, he felt a rush of power flood his head with every calculated move. He wanted more than anything to feel one with his body again, but it still felt too much like a suit one size too small. He was being smothered by his skin. And even if the spirit had been willing, his flesh was beyond weak. His knees were trembling just from the effort of holding up his weight. He felt helpless. <br/>“I’m gonna call in for you,” John decided while Punk wavered. He stacked the drinks on the box of donuts and balanced it carefully while he used his other hand to wave the straight edge superstar back into his bus. “C’mon, get inside. Let me help you out.”<br/>“No,” Punk started, aggrieved, but John was already inside, putting the food on the counter and shrugging off his hoodie. “Dude, I’m a grown fucking man. I don’t need your help. Back off.”<br/>John already had an arm around the smaller star’s shoulders, steering him towards the bedroom. Punk tried to shrug him off, but he was so weak that it was more of a suggestion. When the door opened, he shoved John away from him, grunting, “You can go now, thanks.” He tried to crawl into bed, but a hand grabbed his. <br/>Punk looked back over his shoulder to see John’s eyes fixed intently on his wrist. Punk followed his gaze and realized his wrists and arms bore angry marks from being dragged and tied up, fingerprints around his biceps and bruised, scraped lines where his hands were bound. He yanked his hand out of John’s grasp and crossed his arms, hiding the worst wounds, but John still frowned, eyes skimming up the younger man’s body as if looking for evidence. <br/>“Phil.” Gearing his real name grated at him. “What happened?”<br/>“Nothing. Hurt myself at the gym.”<br/>“With what?”<br/>He didn’t answer. Instead, he crawled into his bed and wrapped the heavy blanket around him. “Thanks for the donuts. Tell them they can send a doctor if they want, but I know for a fact I can’t fight tonight.”<br/>“We’re dark the next few nights. Don’t worry about that.” Punk felt the mattress shift with John’s weight and burrowed deeper into his nest. “Why are you all bundled up? It’s hot.”<br/>“You always think it’s hot,” Punk snorted. <br/>“Maybe so, but I’m still right. You’re either hiding something from me or you could have a serious fever. Either way, I’m not leaving until I find out.” John’s voice was firm and steady. He was always so calm about everything, especially when anyone else would be furious or terrified. It grated at Punk, made him feel like a dumb dog barking at his own shadow. <br/>The smaller man took a moment to think, weighing out what was worth telling. “I got in a fight,” he finally admitted. “I got hurt. It sucked. I’m fine. It’s what we do for a living. I just need to rest up.”<br/>John only looked more worried. “I can’t remember the last time Heyman didn’t have to force you to stay away when you were hurt.”<br/>“So?” Punk snapped.<br/>“So how serious is it? Do you need a hospital?” <br/>“No.” Years of watching<i> Law &amp; Order: SVU</i> had made him paranoid. He didn’t want cops involved or doctors pressuring him to do a rape kit. He didn’t think he could handle telling anyone what had happened, anyway. “I’m just really banged up and I don’t want people asking questions. It’s being handled out of the ring. I’m sure you’ve had grudges like that.”<br/>“Sure. I’ve gotten into fights backstage. I got hazed by JBL and Benoit. I know how bad it can get.” John tugged off the comforter, ignoring Punk’s scowl. “And I also know you have to be pretty wrecked if you’re skipping a fight.”<br/>Wrecked didn’t begin to describe it. The aspirin didn’t seem to touch the throbbing pain inside him every time he shifted his legs. He wasn’t bleeding, so it seemed the Shield had made good on their promise not to cause permanent damage, but his pelvis ached nonetheless. Still, he snatched the comforter out of John’s grasp and threw it back over himself. “I got my ass kicked, I feel stupid, and I’d rather not explain the bruises to every nosey asshole in the company.” He narrowed his eyes pointedly. “One is enough for me.”<br/>John still looked unconvinced. “It was the Shield, wasn’t it? What did they do to you?”<br/>The memory of being surrounded by the three men overwhelmed him, and Punk had to swallow sudden panic. He hoped the lingering smell of weed and sex clinging to the clothes on his floor wasn’t pungent enough for John to notice, but he had a nasty feeling that the Cenation leader didn’t miss much. “Found me at the gym and beat the hell out of me.” It wasn’t technically a lie. <br/>“Goddammit, Phil! This is why I told you to let me go with you!”<br/>“Ah, yes, a good, old-fashioned ‘I told you so.’ Just what the doctor ordered,” Punk scoffed. <br/>John had the manners to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just worried about you. I want to help you.”<br/>“Then leave me alone.” The last word came out as an exhausted groan. “Look, Johnboy, I appreciate the effort, but I’m a big boy. Thanks to you, I’ve already got donuts. Now all I need is a case of Diet Pepsi and some <i>Always Sunny,</i> and I’ll be back to my usual peppy self in no time.” He tucked himself in against his pillow, resolutely shutting his eyes. <br/>“Punk…”<br/>The straight edge superstar sighed. “Goodbye, John,” he said emphatically, and he was relieved when he heard footsteps and his front door slamming shut. Alone, he finally allowed himself a whine of pain and buried his face in his pillow, trying to block out the world and forget. </p>
<p>When Punk reawoke, the shooting pains in his limbs had finally died down. He’d kicked off his blankets and clothes, and he felt exposed, even in the dark, empty bus. He grasped around and tugged his sweats back on, more comfortable in the cool nighttime. He checked his phone and saw that it was nearly midnight. <br/>Stomach growling, he set upon the box of donuts and now-cold coffee, ignoring the staleness. The sourness in his stomach started to recede. See? Back to normal, he told himself. But he could feel fingers digging into his hips and hot breath on his neck, and he was too afraid to turn on the light for fear that he might see the trio standing there. <i>Or maybe you’re afraid of not seeing them, </i>a voice in the back of his head hissed, and he buried his face in his hands with a sigh. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarled at the voice, but the damage was done. He was already imagining himself on his knees, looking up at his captors in anxious anticipation, the three of them naked and lording over him, the cocks that had split him open and destroyed him shoved in his face. A not-unpleasant chill ran up Punk’s spine. He could feel hot splashes of cum raining over his face, neck, and chest, could hear them praising him (“Good girl, princess, now open that pretty mouth”). His cock swelled, his sore hole twitching with a need to be filled. He curled in on himself, forehead pressed to the mattress, trying to focus on anything but the flashing images in his head and the burning arousal rushing through his veins. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and tried to focus on that, but he kept drifting back to Roman’s strong hand on his chin, a cum-smeared thumb pushing into his mouth, and maybe, fuck, an opportunity to enjoy it, to let himself enjoy it, to bask in whatever attention they were willing to give him. <br/>He dug his fingers into his hair, pulling until his scalp felt numb. <i>Stop. Put it behind you,</i> he told himself. <i>It’s over.</i><br/>Dean’s voice replayed in his mind, rough and cold. <i>“Sounds like we’ll just have to do this again.”</i><br/>The longer he stayed there in the fetal position, hyperventilating into his knees, the more overwhelmed he became with claustrophobia. His bus, he decided, clearly wasn’t safe from the Shield, not when they’d been able to break in to dump him in his bed. <br/>He needed to leave. <br/>Brain staticky, he stumbled to his feet, barely stopping to cram on shoes before spilling out into the lot. The night’s chill hit his chest before he realized he was still shirtless. The bright lot lights brought him little comfort, and he quickly darted into the shadows of a nearby bus to avoid being seen. <br/>He stood, panting, for several minutes before his fear receded enough for him to feel stupid. Still, he couldn’t go back in his bus. It felt like a cage that the Shield was ready to snap shut at a moment's notice. His hands shook, and he clasped them together tightly. “The fuck is wrong with me?” he breathed.<br/>The wind roared, and Punk looked around the lot, lost. Where was he supposed to go? He couldn’t tell anyone what happened; even if he could, he didn’t know that he would. He needed to go somewhere, but he had no idea where he could stomach being. He couldn’t go to John. He definitely couldn’t be in his bus. And he couldn’t stay outside all night, especially not in the state he was still in. <br/><i>“Don’t you want Daddy to take care of you?”</i> The memory of those words warmed him. He half-wished he could be back in the Shield’s bus, being petted and praised and teased. In some alternate universe, one where they didn’t loathe him and he was gay (which he wasn’t, he was straight, he was definitely straight), it would be so nice, so comforting, to curl up in their laps and let himself be unburdened. Punk was the type who could handle his shit. He always had been. He hadn’t had a choice. And as proud as he was of his tenacity and resourcefulness, it got exhausting. Sometimes, he just wanted to stop. <br/>His feet carried him to the Shield’s bus as if he was sleepwalking. He told himself he was checking in on the enemy. The window to the bedroom was cracked, and Punk nestled himself into a patch of darkness where he could peek through and listen in safety. <br/>Inside, Seth and Dean were tangled together on the bed, shirts off, kissing passionately. Dean was all hands and teeth, grabbing at Seth’s long locks and nibbling at his lips and jaw. Seth hummed intently, legs wrapped around Dean’s waist, but there was a stiffness to his limbs. After a particularly rough bite, Seth hissed, “Fuck! Stop, stop.”<br/>To Punk’s surprise, the blond stopped. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t think I was being that rough.”<br/>“You weren’t. I’m just feeling… off.” Seth rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get over last night.”<br/>Punk’s stomach lurched and his knees went weak. Were they already planning another attack? <br/>“Hey, don’t apologize. I get it. It freaked you out.” Dean ran a thumb over Seth’s jaw soothingly. “You’re not used to doing things like that.”<br/>Seth snorted. “Don’t act like you are. It was just a random idea we came up with while we were partying that went too far. This wasn’t some master plan.”<br/>“Putting a lotta words in my mouth, Sethie.” Dean didn’t sound angry, just stern, but it was enough to make Seth look at him with soft eyes. <br/>“I don’t get how you’re not freaking out right now,” Seth mumbled, inching closer to Dean and burying himself in the other man’s arms. “It was so weird. I can’t believe we went through with it, and I really can’t believe he… well, you were there.”<br/>“Yeah. I was.” Dean brushed a hand over his friend’s back, eyes distant.<br/>“I feel guiltier than if we’d just hurt him. He seems like he needs someone to help him. Like he’s hurting.”<br/>“Who doesn’t have pain?” Dean grunted, sounding unconvincing and unconvinced. “He’s a prick.”<br/>Seth chuckled. “So are you.”<br/>“Yeah, but not to you.”<br/>The long-haired superstar sat up on his elbow, leaning over Dean, brown eyes on blue. “And you’re also not heartless. I don’t feel good about what we did last night. Can you really tell me you do?”<br/>Dean’s eyes narrowed, but he said, “No. I don’t. But I wouldn’t no matter how he acted. I won’t pretend it wasn’t fun, but I’ve been seeing my grandmother telling me what a scumbag I am every time I close my eyes.”<br/>“I can’t stop thinking about how he must feel right now. I honestly can’t guess. But the things he was willing to do, the things he said, even after everything we did to him…”<br/>“Maybe he just wanted to cum.”<br/>Seth raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He may be an asshole, but Punk is tough and he’s stubborn. There’s no way he’d break like that just for an orgasm.”<br/>Dean sighed heavily, mussing his sandy hair. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s got multiple personalities or trauma or a fucked-up crush on us. What the fuck does that matter? We can go back in time, and if he’s really that screwed up and needs that much love and affection, I really fucking doubt he’s gonna let us be the ones who give it to him.”<br/>There was a long pause. Punk leaned into the windowsill, barely breathing. <br/>“You said let us,” Seth said. His gaze was stuck on Dean’s stony profile. “You wanna help him too.”<br/>“But we can’t. There’s nothing we can do for him.”<br/>“Bullshit. I don’t buy that. After last night, I think we’re exactly the people he needs to help him.” When Dean didn’t respond, Seth brushed his fingers over his friend’s arm softly. “Maybe he deserved to be taken down a peg, but it seems like he was plenty low before we got to him, no matter how cocky he always acts. And I think, maybe, he needs someone who knows how to actually take care of him the way I know we can.” He reached down, lacing his fingers together with Dean’s. The taller man finally looked up at him. “He needs someone to take care of him like you and Ro take care of me.”<br/><i>“Don’t you want Daddy to take care of you?”</i><br/>Punk’s tired body trembled. He leaned against the bus, trying to absorb the light and heat of the bedroom through the cool metal. He had to swallow a lump in his throat and endure a throbbing ache in the center of his chest as he watched Dean gently push Seth’s blond forelock back, smoothing it behind the young man’s ear. Punk tried to remember that feeling, to replicate it somewhere in his memory, but he came up empty. A smattering of girlfriends liked to play with and stroke his hair when it was long, but they’d never made a gesture quite like that, so bold but tender and warming. His knuckles whitened on the windowsill. <br/>“Maybe. But I think we lost our chance there.” Dean pressed a kiss to Seth’s forehead. <br/>The architect sighed. “I know you’re right. I just wish you weren’t. We’re supposed to fight injustices and help people, and it feels like we can’t do anything. Not that we should want to in the first place, I know, but still.”<br/>“I get what you mean. Things feel kinda different now. And I feel for that jackass, somehow. But our hands are tied here.”<br/>Moments later, Punk heard footsteps. He ducked deeper into shadow and listened to the rattling of keys and the slamming of a door. After a moment, Roman appeared in the bedroom doorway, jaw tense. “No one I’ve talked to knows when he’s coming back.”<br/>“Fuck.” Dean sat up and swept and agitated hand through his hair. “I knew we went too far. You know how bad he’s hurt?”<br/>“No.” Roman flopped on the mattress between the other men. “I think it’s a wait and see situation. But I don’t think it’ll come back to us.”<br/>“But do we know if he’s okay?” Seth asked, frowning.<br/>Roman rubbed his eyes, aggravated. “I don’t. But it doesn’t matter as long as you two are okay.”<br/>“He’s feeling guilty and freaked out,” Dean told Roman. <br/>“And I wasn’t the only one,” Seth added. <br/>“I’m not gonna say I feel great about it,” Roman said, “and no way in hell are we ever doing it again. I flushed the rest of the roofies I found in Maddox’s locker, and considering the look on his face when I asked him about them, I don’t think he’s gonna try getting them again. We should just forget it ever happened and make sure we don’t let ourselves get stupid when we’re pissed off.”<br/>Seth shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I can forget about it. Something about this is sticking with me. I really think he needs us, Ro.”<br/>Roman sighed and held up a hand. Seth quieted immediately. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but there’s nothing we can do but make sure he’s not messed up enough to raise questions or for him to go to the police. Last night, some weird things happened, and we let ourselves get emotional. We can’t afford to do that again. Punk doesn’t matter. Just forget him.”<br/>Nothing could have prepared Punk for the way his heart crumbled at those words. <i>No, please. Don’t forget me.</i> He choked on a whimper. He couldn’t think of a moment he’d hated himself more. He didn’t understand why he felt like he was dying, but he knew he was disgusted.<br/>Seth folded his arms and fell silent. Roman Gabe him a small smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my pouty sweetheart. But it’s what’s best for you. I have to keep my boys safe.” He nuzzled into Seth’s neck. <br/>The architect drew away. “I’m sorry, Ro, but I’m not in the right headspace for a ton of touching tonight.”<br/>Right away, Roman retreated, still close enough to comfort but leaving room between them. “No problem. Want Dean and me to distract you?”<br/>Seth’s expression softened. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”<br/>The leader of the Shield looked at Dean, who shivered under his intense gaze. The blond looked almost shy when he nodded, and Punk pressed his fingertips so hard against the windowsill they went numb. <br/>The Samoan reached over and gently brushed his thumb over Dean’s lower lip. “On your knees, little pet,” he said, and Punk was surprised by the little squeak of embarrassed arousal that came out of the lunatic fringe. Still, when Roman slid to sit at the end of the bed, Dean jumped to settle in front of him, blue eyes wide and expectant. Roman tutted. “I think my pet is overdressed.” <br/>Dean’s face reddened. Eyes down, he tugged off his clothes, hurrying to get back on his knees, hands folded in his lap. His teeth worried his lower lip, and he looked up at the other man through his lashes. “So cute,” Roman cooed, and Dean’s flush spread beautifully down his neck and chest. “Such a good little kitten for Daddy, aren’t you?” When he received silence, he raised Dean’s chin, looking his in the eye. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”<br/>The blond shivered. “I try to be, Daddy,” he mumbled. In spite of his mortification and his apparent hesitation, his thick cock was growing thicker between his thighs. Seth sighed, his fingers idly drifting down his stomach and playing with the edge of his boxers. <br/>“And you do such a good job.” Roman cupped his friend’s face in his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over his cheek. “You can be such a big, strong boy for me. I bet you love looking like a real man in front of everybody, hm? Nobody would ever guess that you’re actually a cock whore for Daddy. But you wouldn’t even be able to touch that adorable dick of yours if I didn’t give you permission, would you?”<br/>Dean shook his head. Roman slid a hand into his hair and tugged, earning a squeak and a, “No, Daddy.”<br/>“That’s right. Such a good little kitten, knowing your place. I’m so proud of you. You’re so good at serving real men. I love thinking about finding some big, musclebound alpha male to hold you down and remind you of where you belong when you’re getting cocky. Little beta sluts like you only fuck submissive little whores, and only when I say so. Isn’t that right, pet?”<br/>“Yes, Daddy.” Dean was vibrating with humiliation, face burning red, eyes clenched shut. His cock was already fully hard. Punk’s mouth watered looking at it, and he felt his dick twitch in response. <br/>“Who does your cock belong to, kitten?”<br/>Dean inhaled sharply. “You, Daddy.”<br/>“Who do your cute little holes belong to?”<br/>“You, Daddy.”<br/>Roman patted Dean’s head gently. “You’re doing so well. I’m gonna give you a little treat. Do you want my cock in your mouth or your ass, kitten?”<br/>Dean squirmed, thinking. “My mouth, Daddy.”<br/>“Mmmm, good choice. I haven’t felt that tongue for too long.” Roman tugged his zipper down and pulled out his cock. He pumped it lazily, working himself to full hardness. Dean eyed it greedily, fingers digging into his knees. He leaned forward, inching closer, lips parted in desperation, and Roman had to nudge him back with a foot to the chest more than once. “My impatient little toy. Just imagine if everyone in the locker room could see you like this. I wonder what they’d think of you. You’d never be able to pretend to be a tough man again.”<br/>A frustrated growl came from Dean’s throat, and Roman chuckled. “Poor kitten. All frustrated and keyed up. Alright, baby.” He tapped the head of his impressive member against Dean’s lips. “Suck Daddy’s dick.”<br/>The moan that Dean let out was practically feral, and he lapped lovingly at the tip before wrapping his lips around the head and swallowing an admirable amount of the shaft before choking and pulling back. Roman pet his hair gently. “Your training’s working. Soon, I’ll be fucking your throat like it’s no problem, won’t I? Watching that pretty neck of yours bulge while you choke on my dick…”<br/>Dean went back to work, one hand gripping base, forcing the length down his throat until his lips brushed his fingers. He bobbed his head slowly, taking care to adjust. The occasional gag made Roman groan and buck his hips, coaxing rivulets of drool down the blond’s chin. His blue eyes were screwed shut, focused on fucking his leader’s cock with his tongue and velvet throat. <br/>Roman tugged sharply at Dean’s hair, and the lunatic fringe let out a noise like a wounded animal. “I wanna see your eyes,” he ordered, and he smirked when he was obeyed. “Such pretty eyes. So sweet.” He kept his hand firmly fisted in Dean’s hair, guiding as he sucked. “You’re so cute, kitten. Especially when you’re trying to be a big man. Like last night.”<br/>A flush of heat ran through Punk, and his knees went weak.<br/>“It’s adorable watching you top someone, baby. Really. Especially strangers. You stand up so tall and act all cocky. You just love trying to show off how mean you can be. But I think my favorite part is watching your face when you fuck them. You get so excited to play with your cute little dick. You’re such a grateful, appreciative pet.”<br/>Dean moaned deeply, the sound muffled by Roman’s shaft. Roman forced his head down faster, fucking Dean’s hand and mouth. <br/>Punk pressed his nose to the window, barely daring to breathe. A cold spot formed on his crotch from the precum leaking into his underwear, and one hand drifted down to palm desperately at himself through his sweatpants. He looked back to where Seth lounged at the head of the bed, propped up on pillows. Seth’s clever fingers worked over his long shaft, and he bit his lip, trying to stay a silent voyeur, handsome face contorted with the effort. Punk felt an ache deep in the pit of his stomach, wanting more than anything to be in that bedroom. His mind raced with possibilities — he could suck Seth’s cock while he enjoyed Dean and Roman’s show, or he could offer himself up for Dean to release his frustrations on, or he could even stay caged, gagged, and needy in the corner, forced to watch without relief. All he knew was that he wanted, somehow, to be involved. He wanted them to want him, even if it was just as a sex toy. He just wanted some kind of purpose, to at least exist on the edges of the warmth and camaraderie and seductive affection the Shield shared. <br/>The gags and slick sounds of friction from Dean drew more frequent, interjected with growled curses from Roman, who had turned his focus away from humiliating the man at his feet, instead putting his effort into fucking his friend’s throat. The Samoan’s muscles tensed, and he thrusted hard enough to have tears streaming down Dean’s face. “Ready for your treat, kitten?” he panted, and Dean let out a whine of excitement, hips wiggling in delight. Seth choked out a gasp and worked himself faster, lips parted in rapture. With an intense growl, Roman forced as much of his dick down Dean’s whimpering throat as he could and threw his head back, cumming hard. Dean’s watering eyes stared up at Roman in worship, and he gulped down what Roman gave him, lips pressed tight against the fingers wrapped around his leader’s shaft. Seth followed soon after, back arching off the mattress, ropes of cum shooting over his defined chest. <br/>Roman pulled Dean off of him, and the lunatic fringe took in a deep gasp of air, chest heaving. Roman’s strong hand brushed back the blond hair sticking to his friend’s forehead. “So good,” he sighed warmly. “I love you, kitten.”<br/>Dean nuzzled his cheek happily against Roman’s thigh. “Love you, Daddy.”<br/>Punk forced himself to tear his eyes away and gripped his hands at his sides. The love confession rattled him significantly more than the brutal face-fucking and withering condescension. He tried to will his erection away, but he couldn’t. He knew he could bring himself off quickly, but the idea of jerking himself off in the shadows of his rapists’ bus made bile rise in his throat. A heat pooling in his belly begged him to slide a finger into his ass, an impulse so secret and rarely indulged that it always brought with it a wave of overwhelming shame. <br/>He stumbled back from the window, feeling dazed. His entire body shivered, overhot in the cool breeze. He retreated to the space outside Daniel Bryan’s bus, parked right at the edge of the parking lot, and took several deep breaths. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “Just go,” he whispered to himself. “Stop thinking about it. Just go.”<br/>But he stayed where he was, frozen. He felt untethered. He needed someone to guide him. After all his railing against McMahon and the entire system, in that moment, he just wanted someone to tell him what to do. Instead, he stayed, swaying in place, brain so chaotically full he couldn’t think, until the sun crept over the trees on the horizon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A couple days later, Punk was back in the gym. He couldn’t stand staying huddled up in his bus. He didn’t tell John when he was going, and his schedule didn’t change; he still showed up late, hoping to be alone. He was irritated that there were a few stragglers every time he worked out, and he was disappointed that none of them included the Shield. It seemed the trio had made good on their decision to leave him alone. <br/>The only place he saw them was backstage. Their next fight was looming, but the other men seemed unconcerned; they barely glanced at him. He did a good job of keeping his eyes down and pretending not to be bothered, but his knees went weak and his chest ached when they walked by without so much as a glance. He wanted to scream, kick them, force them to acknowledge him in some way. <i>“How dare you?”</i> he wanted to cry.<i> “How dare you do this to me and then just leave me alone? You said you’d take care of me. Why am I not good enough? I want to be good enough.”</i><br/>If he was acting different, no one really noticed. John, Paul, and Kofi were the only ones to care that he missed shows, and once he went back to fighting, the only one to question him was Cena. “Why are you wearing tights?” he asked, confronting Punk in an otherwise-empty locker room after a show. The straight edge superstar had hung behind to shower, but it seemed John was stubborn enough to wait for him as long as it took.<br/>“Laundry issues.” Punk raised an eyebrow, tossing his ring gear in a bag. “That okay with you?”<br/>“You’re still hurt.” It wasn’t a question.<br/>Punk sighed and worked the sore muscles of his neck, annoyed. “I bruise like a peach. You know that.” He thought briefly of the bruises John’s massive fingers had pressed into his flesh during their fights and felt lightheaded. <br/>“You sure? I wanna look you over. I don’t trust it.”<br/>“Why? Look, I’m banged up. It doesn’t look great. But it’s nothing serious.”<br/>“Have you been looked over by a doctor?” When Punk stayed silent, John crossed his arms over his chest. “Please. At least as a second opinion on if you should be working right now.”<br/>Punk could barely hear over the rushing of blood in his ears. He jammed things into his bag blindly, pulse hammering in his throat. The idea of John seeing what happened, of knowing… Somehow, some way, he thought the big Boy Scout would look straight through him, and he would see how much Punk had enjoyed it, even reveled in it. His stomach churned furiously. <br/>A large hand closed, warm and firm, on his wrist, and it sent a pang of heat up his arm and down to his groin. He looked up to find steady blue eyes on his. “Please,” John murmured. “Just put on your regular ring gear. To make me feel better?” His voice reminded Punk of the warm, honeyed sound of Roman’s growls. <br/>Punk swallowed, his mouth dry. He didn’t have it in him to say no. He’d spent every waking moment since the Shield’s attack wishing someone would touch him like that and tell him what to do. “Fine,” he said stiffly. “But it’s not as bad as it looks, okay?”<br/>John gave him a dubious look before he turned around, giving him a moment of privacy. Punk dug through his bag and found the spare shorts he stashed away, then slipped out of his jeans and into his familiar gear. His fingers instinctively reached for his bruised backside, wanting to cover the damage, but he knew John would never let him. Instead, he held his hands at his side, fidgeting uncomfortably. He may as well have been naked. He tapped John on the shoulder and held out his arms. “See? I’ve been hurt worse. I’m fine.” <br/>“Holy fucking shit, Phil.” John’s jaw dropped, his brow furrowed as he looked over his friend’s body. His eyes scanned Punk’s shoulders, chest, hips, and legs. He turned Punk around, and the gasp that he let out when faced with the scratches, bites, and bruises on Punk’s back and thighs made the smaller man blush. Fingers skimmed his sides as John examined the deep black and purple marks peeking out from beneath his shorts. “What the hell did those animals do to you?” <br/>The strain in John’s voice tugged at Punk’s heart. He pulled out of the Cenation leader’s grasp and wrapped his arms protectively around himself, unable to look in the other man’s eyes. “I told you. They kicked my ass. End of story.”<br/>John took Punk’s hands gently in his, tugging them towards him and examining the straight edge superstar’s raw, red wrists. He ran the pads of his thumbs over Punk’s knuckles, and Punk shuddered. “Oh, Phil,” John murmured, sounding heartbroken, and Punk felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He tore out of John’s hold, scowling. <br/>“Stop calling me that. You only call me that when you’re freaking out or I’m hurt. I’m fine.”<br/>“This is fine?! Have you even looked at yourself?!” <br/>Punk took another step back, heart pounding. John’s proximity and gaze made his head spin. “I didn’t say it didn’t hurt. But I’ll be okay. I’ve lost fights before.”<br/>“Stop acting like this was a fight! I’m not a moron. I can see this was more than that.” <br/>“No, you don’t.” He knew he was being stubborn, but he didn’t care. “And anyway, it’s over now. Can’t you just… leave it alone?”<br/>“Leave it alone?” John grabbed him, fuming. He placed his big hands over the bruises on Punk’s hips, his fingertips lining up with the deep purple marks. One hand shifted, running down to fit over a clutching handprint on the inside of a soft, tan thigh. The straight edge superstar’s breathing hitched. “I know what this is, what it means. Alright? You don’t have to tell me. I know what they did to you.”<br/>A wave of nausea swept over Punk, and he swallowed. “If you’re so sure, then why ask?” He at least sounded confident. <br/>“Because I want you to trust me for once.” John’s soft blue eyes met Punk’s. As he spoke, his hands seemed to settle subconsciously, even protectively, over Punk’s waist. The younger man thought he could feel John’s palms burning a mark onto his skin, but he didn’t pull away, even when John drew him in closer. “Please, Phil. Punk. Let me help. Let me protect you.”<br/>Punk choked back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He took a deep breath, letting the roar in his mind grow loud enough to drown out his thoughts. He shoved John away roughly and snatched at the clothes in his bag, tugging on jeans and a shirt without looking at his friend. “I don’t need your help, and I can protect myself,” he said, voice clipped. He grabbed his bag and started towards the door. “Just fucking forget about it, Johnboy. I have.” <br/>Punk was in the parking lot when his adrenaline and unplaced rage finally started to wear away. His shoulders sagged, the gym bag feeling a million pounds. He could still feel John’s hands and eyes on him. His skin burned where thick fingers had wrapped over the matching bruises on his hips and thighs (or worse, fingertips ghosting over his injured wrists, soft and sweet). He wandered, half blind, down the path to the cluster of cars and tour buses and locked himself into his bus with shaking fingers. He felt keyed up and overheated in spite of the fight he’d had only hours ago. It was like an unscratchable itch was living under his skin. <br/>He made his way to the bedroom and tossed off his clothes, standing in front of the mirror. The bruises were livid, but starting to green around the edges. His fingers skimmed over the marks, and he watched his cock twitch to attention when he pressed on the sore flesh of his hips. A part of him wanted to take pictures; he panicked at the idea of forgetting how his body looked in his wounded state. He wanted his skin to be a memorial. <br/>The aching need between his thighs became distracting. He ran his palms over his chest, stomach, hips, and thighs, brain empty aside from sensation and the image of his own punished flesh. He watched his fingers creep towards his cock. <br/>A loud bang sounded from outside, followed by a chorus of laughter. <i>Fireworks,</i> he realized, recognizing the sounds of other superstars reveling in wins or recovering from losses. It was enough to snap him out of his stupor. When he looked back at himself in the mirror, at his prized bruises and hard cock, he felt disgusted. <br/>He scrubbed a hand over his face with a growl of frustration and fell back on his mattress.<i> I’m just keyed up,</i> he told himself firmly. He hadn’t touched himself since the kidnapping, too anxious about where his mind might go if he did, but that was a battle he was clearly already losing. <i>Refusing to jerk off is only gonna make things worse. </i><br/>After another minute of hesitation, he rolled onto his stomach, reaching under the bed and pulling out a battered old shoe box. He took off the flimsy top to reveal a number of pictures, DVDs, and sex toys. He started digging through, unsure what he was looking for.<br/>It wasn’t that he was some blushing virgin, he reminded himself. He’d been with plenty of women. He wasn’t much one for sleeping around, but he’d had his fair share of short-term relationships, and they were hardly shrinking violets themselves. If pressed, he would even have described himself as somewhat kinky. Wrestling was full of the creative and the adventurous, and that tended to show itself in the bedroom. Many of the odds and ends in the box had been gifts from previous girlfriends: nipple clamps, a length of rope, and an X-Men porn parody had all gotten a decent amount of use from him in the past. For once, he breezed right past the tiny vibrator he’d gotten one Valentine’s Day. He’d been fortunate to have multiple ex-girlfriends with an undying passion for pegging who had abated his worries that there was something wrong with him for enjoying having something shoved in his ass, and the thin, pink dildo had become a favorite of his. But the thought of using it so soon after the attack brought back a wave of that old shame, and he buried it under a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. Instead, he snatched up a lesbian porno mag and spread out on his bed. <br/>He thumbed through, searching for a favorite spread. It showed a lithe redhead spread-eagled on a bed with a curvy blonde between her thighs, fingers deep inside her. The blonde’s tongue was dragging up the redhead’s thigh, and they both looked consumed with pleasure. It was a good starting point, and he studied it before laying back and closing his eyes. <br/>He’d never much liked imagining himself being involved when he fantasized. It always made him feel awkward and vulnerable to thrust himself into his imaginings. He decided to introduce himself slowly, imagining himself as an unnoticed observer. He imagined the blonde and the redhead (who always morphed into Emma Frost and Jean Grey) kissing passionately, tongues intertwining. Emma captured Jean’s wrists in one hand, using the other to slide between their naked stomachs and down to Jean’s wet slit. He thought of how Jean’s jaw would drop in ecstasy, the way her moans would sound in his ears, the warm velvet of her skin. <br/>He tried to imagine himself watching the women from across the room. His hand drifted to his cock, pumping it back to full hardness. He struggled to stay focused on stroking himself and picturing the women holding each other close, fingers sliding down each other’s abdomens, disappearing between each other’s legs. There was a familiar comfort in the fantasy of the two X-Women rolling around on a big, plush bed was comforting, almost calming. <br/>He took a deep breath and thought of Emma turning to him, her beautiful face framed by platinum waves, bright blue eyes piercing him like bullets. “Don’t you want to come join us, darling?” she purred. <br/>Then he was pulled into their embrace, surrounded by soft flesh and wet heat. Delicate fingers wrapped around his cock and grabbed at his flesh until he bruised. He let himself be overtaken, completely smothered under their attentions. <br/>Still, the heat in his stomach stayed at a simmer. He scowled, trying to think of ways to spice up the fantasy.<i> It’s not weird if one of them has a strap-on. I don’t even have to finger myself. I can just imagine it. </i><br/>The thought brought a wave of relief, and he finally felt an uptick in arousal when Jean tied him to the bed and Emma settled between his legs with a long, thin strap-on positioned over her broad hips. “What a pretty boy,” she said, running a finger down his chest and over his stomach, stopping to flick lightly over the tip of his cock. He gasped and bucked towards the friction, but she just laughed. “Oh, my! Aren’t you adorable when you want something? I can’t wait to hear how lovely it sounds when you beg.”<br/>And then she was suddenly inside him, fucking him hard, brutally. He let out a soft cry, but her hand clamped over his mouth. “Hush now. This can’t be too much already. We’ve only just begun.”<br/>Then the hand on his hips became bigger and stronger, the blunt nails digging into his skin. The shaft driving in and out of him was thicker and hotter than before. Roman’s deep growl sounded in his ear.<br/>Punk’s eyes jolted open, and he glared at the ceiling of his bedroom. <i>Fucking focus,</i> he chastized himself.<i> This isn’t about them. </i><br/>Jean and Emma had him on his hands and knees now, Jean wearing a strap-on that may or may not have reminded him of Dean’s thick cock. He was working his sore jaw around while Emma pounded him from behind, driving into the spot that made him melt. Both women giggled and cooed at him, teasing him. “What’s it like to have the smallest dick in the room?” Jean asked, and they laughed when he whined. <br/>Then it was Dean and Seth’s voices in his ears, both fucking into him relentlessly. Punk’s cock twitched and leaked. “Look at how bad she wants it. Pathetic,” he heard one of them say. <br/>Then he was alone with one man behind him, a strong chest pressed to his back, a long shaft driving into him. He heard a very familiar voice panting in his ear while big, strong hands groped at his bruises. “Fuck, Phil, you feel amazing…”<br/>Punk unraveled. He bit his knuckle to keep from crying out, and it seemed to last for hours before he was spent. He stared at the ceiling, feeling dazed. It took a while for the guilt and self-loathing to catch up. <br/>He scrubbed the cum off his stomach with a towel and burrowed under the blankets. He closed his eyes tight. <i>Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. </i><br/>He fell asleep with John’s hot moan in his memory.<i> “Fuck, Phil, you feel amazing.”</i></p>
<p>A plan formed in the back of his mind over the next few days, a plan that made his blood run hot every time he thought about it. His matches went miserably; tapping out two nights in a row thoroughly bruised his ego. He was twitchy and unfocused. He felt too sick to eat; when he forced dry bread or protein shakes down, he had to distract himself just to keep from throwing it back up. Any sleep he managed to get was restless and filled with uncomfortable dreams.  John tried to corner him, but he ducked around him and disappeared into solitude. <br/>Punk woke early one morning, fingers and toes frozen, brain foggy. He groaned and kicked off his covers, not needing to pee but hoping the ritual would help him drift back to sleep. He yawned and padded down the hallway, and he half crashed through the bathroom door. Through the haze, one thought came through crystal clear: <br/><i>I need the Shield. </i><br/>His legs buckled. With shame or relief at the acknowledgment, he didn’t know, but he leaned over the sink with his face in his hands and exhaled, his whole body trembling. <br/>The rest of the day, he couldn’t keep his mind on a single thing he was doing. He burned himself making breakfast (which he could barely choke down) and zoned out for over fifteen minutes in the middle of getting dressed. His match that night wasn’t just a failure; it was a humiliating failure. He was angry and flustered and pinned way too quickly. He saw Dean when he was limping backstage, and the other man gave him a contemptuous look that made his blood burn. It was nearly impossible for him to wait until night.<br/>He crept out of his bus long after darkness fell and the other superstars were asleep. He wrapped himself up in a dark hoodie, trying to blend into the shadows. He expected to be panicked, but instead, he felt nothing aside from the buzz of possibility. He drifted across the pavement, the pounding of blood in his ears. <br/>The window of the Shield’s bedroom was faintly lit. The glass was cold on Punk’s knuckles as they rapped against it. The blinds shifted, and a confused Dean appeared. Punk jerked his head toward the door. The other man looked skeptical, but he left the window and reappeared at the door. Punk ducked in, tugging his hood down. His stomach turned when he saw that Dean was flanked by Roman and Seth. He swallowed hard, finding himself speechless. <br/>Roman broke the silence. “What the fuck are you doing here?” His words were laced with ice. <br/>“I —“ Punk’s voice cracked. He coughed and tried again. “I wanted to talk to you. About what happened the other day.”<br/>They didn’t pretend not to understand, and he was grateful. He didn’t know if he could get through this if they pleaded ignorance.  “What about it?” Roman asked. He moved in front of Dean and Seth, arms crossed. Punk wondered what it would be like to have someone protect him like that. <br/>The straight edge superstar clenched his fists in his pockets and breathed through his nose. “You were right,” he blurted. “About it. About me.”<br/>The three men stared at him. His head spun. <i>This was stupid, so stupid. They’re gonna toss me out on my ass and tell the whole roster I came here begging them to rape me again. </i>Self-loathing welled in his chest. He braced himself for rejection, laughter, and the end of his career. <br/>Instead, Seth tilted his head to the side and studied Punk carefully. “How?”<br/>Punk could hardly speak. His mouth felt dry and sticky. His knees were at the point of giving out. He cleared his throat, focused on staying standing. “I… I needed it. Like you said. Still need it. It was — it seemed like —“ His stomach turned. How was he supposed to explain it when he didn’t even understand it? “I liked it,” he finally managed, choking on the words. He shivered. “I liked it, and I think I need more.”<br/>Roman’s face remained impassive, but both Seth and Dean looked stunned. “You want more,” Roman repeated. “You want us to fuck you again?”<br/>Punk flushed. He searched for a way to explain himself. “I don’t — I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about… being around you. About being around the three of you. I can’t stop fucking thinking about it. I-I can’t tell you why, but I just want a part of… whatever it is you do. What it is you have. I think I’ve… I’ve needed this a long time.” He gulped. <br/>The leader of the Shield surveyed him for a long while. His cold, dark eyes froze every inch of Punk’s skin they saw. He gave Dean and Seth a brief look, and the other two obediently went to sit at the small kitchen table behind him. Roman pointed, and Punk followed his finger to a chair behind him. The straight edge superstar collapsed gratefully into it, his knees ready to give out. <br/>Roman stood in front of him. Punk was reminded of an ancient warrior or a modern general. There was just something about the man that oozed power. <br/>“I wanna make sure you understand what you’re asking for. So I’m gonna tell you.”<br/>Punk nodded meekly. <br/>The look in Roman’s eyes shifted. There was no rage or hate l mixed with the arousal. Instead, there was hunger, a proud lion stalking a wounded antelope. The vulnerability was intoxicating. <br/>“If we agree to fuck you, that means you’re ours. You’ll be the personal property of the Shield. We make rules, you follow them, even the ones you don’t like. Even when you’re not with us, you’ll be expected to obey. You report to us, and my boys report to me. I will be your owner, your Daddy. You will be our toy. And we take care of our toys.”<br/><i>And we take care of our toys.</i> The longing in Punk’s chest swelled. He couldn’t think of anything more appealing. He nodded slowly.<br/>“This won’t just be about us fucking you. I’m sure you could get any guy in the company to fuck you if you wanted. This is about us knowing what’s best. Your needs will come before mine. My pleasure will come before yours. Do you understand?”<br/>Punk nodded again. Roman tsked and folded his arms. “Use your words, princess.”<br/>The pet name took his breath away. He felt the bizarre urge to cry. He swallowed it down hard and met Roman’s eyes cautiously. “Yes,” he whispered. <br/>“And is that what you want, princess? You want to be ours?”<br/>His breath caught in his throat. “Y-Yes, Daddy.” The words felt foreign in his mouth, but they were delicious. <br/>Roman’s face broke into a smile. It was a sign of warmth that brought Punk a bones-deep satisfaction. “On your knees, then, baby girl.”<br/>Punk was out of his chair and at Roman’s feet in an instant. His muscles were taut, bowstrings stretched to their limit, waiting for the order to fly. He felt a heady rush on anticipation overwhelm him, just like he did when he was standing backstage, listening to crowds scream with delight over just the first few notes of his song. His spine crackled with electric possibility. <br/>Roman reached down and cupped a hand over his cheek. “Obedient already. I like that. It’s gonna be fun making you humiliate yourself.”<br/>A whimper left Punk’s throat. Dean snickered. <br/>Roman stalked his prey in a tight circle, evaluating. Punk struggled to stay still under the steely gaze. His hands were clenched tight in his lap. <br/>The Shield’s leader reached out, brushing his thumb gently over Punk’s lips. “Tell me — what fantasies have been keeping you up at night?”<br/>Punk trembled. He made himself talk before he had time to think. If he thought too hard, he might bolt. “I wanna suck your cock,” he blurted.<br/>“Oh?” Roman’s eyebrows raised. He sounded pleasantly surprised.<br/>“Yeah. I… saw Dean do it one night. I came here to talk to you guys, but then I —“<br/>“Decided to spy on us instead?” Dean finished, face red. Punk dropped his head guiltily. He just prayed they wouldn’t kick him out over his admission. <br/>Roman, however, didn’t seem embarrassed or annoyed. There was a light dancing in his dark eyes when he surveyed the man in front of him. “Did you like it?” he asked. <br/>Punk frowned. “What?”<br/>“Watching him suck my dick. Did you like it?”<br/>A tingle shot up Punk’s spine. “Yeah.” He couldn’t stop himself. “But I bet I can take more of it.”<br/>Seth hid behind his hand and snorted. Dean looked outraged. Roman grinned. “I like the eagerness. But you’re gonna wanna watch what you say about my boy’s performance if you don’t want him to take his frustrations out on you.”<br/>Actually, the idea of Dean taking his frustrations out on Punk was extremely appealing. Punk wiggled in place, overly conscious of his arousal. <br/>Roman pulled his zipper down slowly, taking pleasure in watching the smaller man follow every motion. He pulled out his hardening dick and held it to Punk’s thin lips. “Open,” he ordered.<br/>Punk obeyed and was rewarded with the hot head of Roman’s cock in his mouth. He sighed and rolled his tongue around the soft skin.<br/>He’d sucked strap-ons plenty of times. He’d dated a woman once who liked to make him deepthroat hers, taking great delight in watching Punk struggle and choke around the length. He had always liked it and taken a strange pride in doing it well, but he always found himself disappointed that his partner couldn’t feel his tongue and throat working the length. The soft, appreciative moan from Roman lit his nerves on fire. He moved slowly down the shaft, trying to accommodate the size. His eyes stayed locked on the face of his new master. <br/>Roman’s hand guided him. When the tip hit the back of his throat, he gagged, but Roman’s firm grasp kept him in place. He breathed through his nose and focused on swallowing the significant length. His body fought him; his vision blurred with tears. It made his cock throb. He squeezed his own shaft desperately through his pants.<br/>Roman’s foot nudged his hand away. “Ah ah. No touching.” He had been merciful up until then, allowing Punk to adjust to his length, but he drove in to the hilt. The smaller man gagged again, hard, drool running down his chin. He closed his eyes and forced his body to relax, listening to Roman moan softly. “Mm. I knew this mouth could do more than talk.” <br/>Roman pulled out, and Punk took in a deep gasp of air. The Shield’s leader paused, ready to give his new toy a break, but Punk leaned back in, wrapping his mouth around Roman’s cock yet again, lapping apologetically at the head before taking it enthusiastically back down his throat until he had his nose buried in soft pubic hair. Dean made a strangled sound from behind them. <br/>Roman gripped Punk’s hair and started fucking his mouth, watching the other man’s eyes blink up at him in adoration through his tears of effort. Roman groaned. “Fuck. I was gonna take it easy on you this time, but you just look so goddamn pretty when you’re choking.” He thrust forward hard, and Punk shivered in ecstasy, eyes falling closed. <br/>Punk felt like he had entered another dimension. Everything outside the trailer disappeared. The lines of his body blurred; he felt himself bleed into Roman, the scratchy carpet, the buzzing air. His head was empty of everything but the pleasure of the man he was worshiping with his mouth. He rubbed his tongue down the bottom of the shaft, whimpering. Roman’s cock twitched, and a drop of something thick and salty hit Punk’s tongue. “Keep going,” Roman ordered, voice tense. His thrusts were losing rhythm, instead just hammering at the back of the smaller man’s throat. He groaned, eyes drifting shut. “He was right, baby boy,” he said to Dean. “You could learn a thing or two.”<br/>Dean didn’t argue. He just answered with a meek, “Yes, Daddy.”<br/>Roman’s grip on Punk’s hair loosened. His strong hand smoothed over the curve of Punk’s jaw. “Let me see those eyes, princess. Look at Daddy when he takes you.”<br/>The whine that came from Punk’s throat was unfamiliar and needy. He opened his eyes, keeping them locked on his new leader as he worked. His mind completely dissolved when Roman let out a growl of “fuck <i>yes”</i> and threw his head back, cumming down Punk’s throat. It was warm, thick, and tangy, and Punk swallowed it greedily. He didn’t stop massaging his tongue over the shaft until Roman pulled it out of his mouth. <br/>Seth and Dean were still watching quietly, Seth’s intense gaze locked on Punk, Dean red-faced and staring at the ceiling with his legs crossed. Roman zipped himself up and smirked at them. “Enjoy the show?” he asked. <br/>“Yes, Daddy,” Seth blurted. Dean echoed him in an embarrassed mumble. <br/>Roman smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of Dean’s head. “Aw, don’t feel bad, kitten. You’ll get there. In the meantime, we’ll make sure our new toy gives you plenty of demonstrations.”<br/>Punk shivered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He dimly registered an ache in his knees, but he stayed still, waiting for an order. He could stay there all night if they wanted. He would be happy to. There wasn’t a single thing he could imagine saying no to. <br/>Roman looked back at him, amusement in his dark eyes. “Up,” he commanded, and Punk hopped to his feet. “Give me your phone.” Again, he obeyed. The Samoan looked the smaller man over in satisfaction, then typed a few things into the phone and handed it back. “There. You have our numbers. Go back to your bus and wait for us to text you tomorrow. We’ll get the finer details worked out then.”<br/>Punk nodded. His heart began to race when Roman leaned in close to murmur in his ear. “And don’t you dare play with yourself, princess. That’s our job now.”<br/>A jolt of arousal made Punk’s knees weak. He nodded and turned to leave, hoping to hide the blush on his cheeks. Before the door closed, a voice behind him asked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”<br/>Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to figure out what he meant. He turned back, eyes down, face red. “Thank you, Daddy.”<br/>He could hear the grin in Roman’s voice when he replied, “You’re welcome, baby.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day was a Saturday. Punk was grateful; he had no idea how he would’ve kept himself together backstage while waiting on the Shield’s instructions. It was hard enough just staying occupied. He worked out until he thought he’d collapse and roamed the small town he’d stopped in for the night. Cena had invited him to his place — “I just wanna sleep in my bed tonight,” he’d been complaining all week — but Punk waved him off. Even when he wasn’t planning a tryst with his enemies, he liked being on the road. He was glad no one would ask too many questions. He didn’t know how to answer them. <br/>He was at a raggedy comic book store when his phone dinged. He checked to see a message on his screen from someone listed only as “S.” <i>Seth.</i> “Meet in thirty?”<br/>He swallowed around the pounding heart in his throat. “I’ll be there,” he responded. He dumped an armful of books in front of the cashier and handed him his credit card before even hearing his total. <br/>The closer he got to the Shield’s bus, the more his stomach tightened. What was he doing? How has he gone from a perfectly normal straight guy to <i>this?</i> He could still quit, could tell them to go to hell and put all this behind him. Maybe he’d go to a bar and order a Pepsi and fuck the first woman who recognized him. It wouldn’t be hard; he’d spent years turning women down. All he had to do was say yes once. <br/>He knocked on the door and was met with a smiling Seth waving him in. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t Roman and Dean shuffling through papers and drinking coffee. “Hey,” he greeted them awkwardly. <br/>“Hey, perfect timing.” Dean held up a small stack of papers. “We’re just going through the agreement now.”<br/>“What agreement?” Punk asked. “I feel like I’m about to buy a car.”<br/>“We try to be thorough,” Seth said. He slid a coffee across the table to the newcomer. <br/>Punk dumped several packets of sugar into the mug (which Dean wrinkled his nose at) and leaned over the scattered papers. He frowned. “These aren’t all rules you wanna give me, right?”<br/>Roman chuckled. “No. Some of them are, but the rest is just stuff we should know. Things you’re comfortable with, things you’re not.”<br/>“You give a shit?” Punk asked, eyebrow raised. <br/>“We take care of our toys. I told you.” Roman handed him a page. <br/>Punk looked it over and felt his face burn. It was a list of fetishes, each followed by “yes, no, maybe, or unsure.” There were things he’d never considered — he hadn’t realized there was such a thing as sexual tickling — and many more he’d never let himself consider. Plugs, remote-controlled vibrators, cross-dressing, piss (giving or receiving)... “Wow. You weren’t kidding. This is a few notches past thorough.”<br/>Dean shrugged. “This is how we do things. If we wanted to hurt you, we’d just do that. We’d rather do this.”<br/>Punk recognized, at least intellectually, that this worked in his favor. He wasn’t sure where the vague sense of disappointment and unease was coming from. “Right, it’s just…” He trailed off, reading through another page. <br/>“What?” Seth asked. <br/>Punk scratched at his sideburns and tossed the papers down. “You guys know I’m not gay,” he said carefully. <br/>“Okay, neither is Seth,” Dean said, and Punk noticed he didn’t mention himself or his leader. “Your point?”<br/>“I just haven’t really done much of this. Especially with men.”<br/>“We’re not asking for a resumé. Just if you’re willing to try it or you think you’d like it. It’s to give us ideas for what to try. And what not to try,” Seth explained. He sounded a bit exasperated, and Punk suddenly felt like the out-of-touch old guy in the room. All the locker room hookups he was used to seeing were affairs so hush-hush that even the people involved didn’t discuss it outside the bedroom. The Shield’s directness threw him off. <br/>“Okay. Sure.” He wanted to clarify further, but even he knew how ridiculous it would sound.<i> No, seriously, I’m not gay, I’m not bi, none of that. I just want to have sex with you. It’s not like that.</i> He didn’t get it, so how would he explain it to them? He grabbed a pen off the table and started circling responses, keeping his mouth shut. <br/>There were a few times he had to stop for questions, and he felt stupid every time. (How was he supposed to know what cockwarming was?!) The Shield was kind enough to answer him without mockery, even if they sometimes smirked or rolled their eyes. He had started to relax when he came to a page titled “sharing.” There were several blank lines below that. “What’s this?” <br/>“Right. That.” Seth looked to Roman, biting his lip.<br/>“We wanted to know,” Roman started carefully, “if you would be interested in us sharing you with some of our friends. All people we know and trust, all safe, all extremely discreet.”<br/>Punk folded his arms. “Uh-huh. And would I trust them?”<br/>“Off the bat? Probably not,” Roman admitted. “But I can personally vouch for all of them. I wouldn’t put you with anybody that I wouldn’t trust to be alone with my boys.”<br/>Punk’s brain was insistent that he say no. He’d gone to the Shield for<i> them,</i> right? It would only make sense for him to stick with them. He wasn’t gay. He didn’t need to sleep with every coworker he had. <br/>But the idea of being turned out was appealing. He imagined Roman telling him to get on his knees in the locker room, surrounded by other naked superstars, and his heart skipped a beat. “Give me an example,” he said. <br/>The other three exchanged looks. Finally, Roman replied, “Sheamus.”<br/>“As in Irish Sheamus?”<br/>“I didn’t realize there was another one.”<br/>Punk nibbled at his thumb. He was surprised, but definitely not disappointed. “I didn’t think he was that kinky, I guess. Doesn’t seem like the type.”<br/>“He’s kinda vanilla,” Seth admitted, “but he’s a great lay. Very athletic.”<br/>“And again, discreet,” Dean chimed in.<br/>The thought of Sheamus’s strong arms pinning him down and his Irish brogue growling in his ear convinced him. “Fine. But I’m not sure I’d trust them with everything.”<br/>“That’s fine,” Roman assured him. “What would you want them to avoid?”<br/>Punk shuffled through his answers. The whole thing felt strangely clinical. “Well.” He squirmed in his seat. “I don’t think I’d want them to stay with me overnight. Or the thing you guys did with the vodka.”<br/>All three members of the Shield exchanged surprised looks. “You… wanna do that again?” Seth asked. <br/>“Well, I don’t know about want,” Punk scoffed, “but, I mean, if you wanted to do it occasionally — very occasionally, maybe a few times a year — then I would be… open to it. But the list of people I would let do that is short.”<br/>“Okay. That’s fine. We’ll remember that,” Roman promised. <br/>Sighing, Punk looked back down at the papers. He hated the questions. What was the point? He’d gone to them because they knew what he needed. If he knew that himself, he wouldn’t need them. He didn’t want to give permission or even be asked for it. He just wanted into the warmth, the passion they all shared. “Can’t you guys just do whatever you want? I thought that was the whole idea, that I’m not the one making decisions.”<br/>“We want you to actually enjoy it. Believe it or not, Punk, we usually prefer having sex with people who are into it. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be doing this.”<br/>Roman had a point. They’d already proven that they didn’t <i>need</i> to ask for anything. Whether or not Punk thought it was stupid was irrelevant. With that reminder, he took a deep breath and continued filling out forms. <br/>When he came to a page titled “hard limits,” he frowned. “What’s this?”<br/>“Anything you absolutely don’t want us to do,” Dean answered. <br/>Punk thought of everything he’d already filled out. The number of things he wasn’t willing to try was embarrassingly low. “I thought that’s what the other pages were for.”<br/>“Not really. Doesn’t have to be a kink or anything. Just anything you don’t want.”<br/>A voice from far, far in the past crept into his mind. <i>“Good boy, Jackie. I told you it would feel good. Here, give me your hand.”</i> His stomach turned, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He reminded himself that he was in the Shield’s mini kitchen in the middle of the day, not a squeaky mattress in the dark. His hand started writing before he knew it. <br/><i>No using ANY part of my real name<br/>No dick-groping, especially when I’m asleep <br/>No calling me “your boy,” “good boy,” “sweet boy”<br/>No mutual masturbation <br/>No frotting </i><br/>Punk was glad he’d at least watched enough porn to know what to call the last item. He slid it over to Roman and sat back, arms crossed. “There. Boom. Are we done now?”<br/>Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re talking pretty big for a guy who was begging to suck our dicks yesterday.”<br/>Heat rolled up Punk’s spine. “Fair point,” he managed to concede. <br/>Roman took pity on him and smiled. “We just need you to agree to our rules.” He slid yet another page across the table, and Punk fought back another sigh. <br/>Most of the rules were just fine. He had to answer any texts within thirty minutes, he had to wear what he was told, and he couldn’t masturbate without permission (he wasn’t allowed to touch his cock at all without being explicitly ordered, which made his heart pound when he read it). Some of the punishments were less exciting than others (writing lines didn’t hold the same appeal as being tied up and watching his masters fuck each other), but he didn’t mind. It was the smaller rules he balked at. “You want me to get at least seven hours of sleep per night? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”<br/>“We want you healthy. So sue us.” Roman sounded nonchalant, but Punk could detect a hint of annoyance. It seemed the leader of the Shield wasn’t used to justifying his decisions.<br/>“I’m a grown man,” Punk complained. “You’re trying to give me a bedtime?”<br/>“No. We’re telling you what you have to do if you want us to fuck you,” Dean snapped. <br/>“But —“ Punk stopped, took a breath, and started again. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Do I just sign down here?”<br/>Roman nodded, looking amused. He watched Punk scribble his signature. “It’s cute how you try to argue until we promise you dick. You must be pretty desperate to be so obedient.”<br/>Punk scowled, face burning. Still, he said, “Guess so. Now what?”<br/>Seth scooped the papers up into a neat pile. “That’s all we need right now. You can go.”<br/>“What? But…”<br/>“We’ll text you when we need you,” he said, and he gave a dismissive wave.<br/>For a second, Punk was frozen, wondering if this was some sort of cruel joke. <i>Is this a setup? Are they just trying to fuck with me?</i> But even if it was, he wasn’t going to show them how hard it hit him. He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and locking eyes with Roman. They stared each other down, stone-faced. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said. Roman nodded.<br/>It was warm outside, but Punk shivered at the wind. His skin was overheated. He glared around the lot in dissatisfaction. He’d never been the type who relied on company, but as he wandered away from the Shield’s bus, the only question in his mind was, <i>What the hell do I do now? </i></p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>At least there’s not a show tonight.</i> Punk told himself to be grateful for this. Any match he fought in his anxious state was guaranteed to go badly for him. He still ached for something to do. He’d worked out twice already, and it was only five in the afternoon. His entire body felt like jelly. He thought he could run or fight or deadlift his way out of the stress thrumming through him, but nothing helped. <br/>He scrolled mindlessly through Reddit, his eyes passing over every possible subject. Nothing interested him. The only thing he could think of was the wave of Seth’s hand when he told him to leave. Like he was shooing away a fly. Something about it scared him. Had he really lost them so soon? He didn’t think he’d even had time to fuck it up yet. <br/>He heard a knock at his door. He jumped to his feet, almost tripping over himself in his haste to answer it, only to find John standing there. “Oh. It’s you.”<br/>Luckily, John mistook his disappointment for irritation. “I know,” he said, holding up a hand. “I know. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose into your business or acted like I knew what was going on.”<br/>Punk’s set his jaw. “No shit.”<br/>“So, mind if I formally apologize over a game of Call of Duty? We can order delivery. My treat.”<br/>The phone in his pocket was so silent and heavy that he could barely focus on John’s words. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” He stepped aside, letting the other man in. He couldn’t think of a believable reason to say no. <i>Sorry, I’m waiting for the Shield to give me a booty call</i> didn’t seem like the best response when he’d just gotten the guy off his back. Besides, Cena’s presence was soothing. When they sat on the couch, he didn’t tuck a pillow between them the way he usually would. If Cena noticed, he didn’t show it, and they spent the first relaxing hours together that  Punk had had since the attack. <br/>The sun was just starting to set when Punk’s phone buzzed. He snatched it up and found a message from Roman. <b>“Where are you right now?”</b><br/>“Who’s that?” John asked<br/>“Heyman,” he lied easily and texted, <b>“At my place with Cena.”</b><br/>The reply was fast. <b>“I want you to play with yourself. Take yourself right to the edge five times, then send a picture of that tiny princess cock of yours leaking all over you.”</b><br/>The air was sucked out of the room. He could feel the heat of John’s body from a foot away. <b>“After he leaves?”</b><br/>He wasn’t really surprised by the answer. <b>“No. Now.” <br/>“He’s sitting right here. I can’t just kick him out.”<br/>“Where did I say that? I don’t care if you do it in his lap. But you’re doing it now.”</b> Punk’s mouth went dry. His instinct was to fight — but the pile of paperwork he signed made it abundantly clear that the punishments he’d receive for being too obstinate wouldn’t be fun. Another text came through. <b>“I was going to let you pick if you wanted to hump a pillow or fuck yourself with something to be nice, but not if you decide to be a brat.”</b><br/>He tucked his phone in his pocket and gave John’s knee a nudge with his. “Gotta make a call. Order us a pizza. And none of your weird, fancy shit, either.”<br/>“Spinach and olives aren’t fancy, but fine,” John retorted. He seemed too busy looking through the character screen to question anything. He didn’t look up as Punk disappeared into his bedroom.<br/>The tattooed superstar took a deep breath. His head spun. Stupidly, he felt shy when he texted, <b>“I’m alone. Am I still allowed to choose?”<br/>“I guess I can give you a reward for listening. Sure.”</b><br/>He was struck by a sense of accomplishment, like he’d earned a gold star on a test. He breathed slowly, steadying himself as he typed, <b>“May I fuck myself with a toy, Daddy?” </b><br/>Seconds felt stretched into hours. The response was quick. <b>“Good girl, asking just right without being told. Yes, you may. But I want a picture of the toy first.”</b><br/>He tripped over a pile of clothes in his hurry to the bed. He scrambled under it for the box and pulled out the little pink vibrator. He winced at the sound his phone made when he took the picture, hoping John was preoccupied enough not to notice any strange sounds coming from the bedroom. <br/><b>“Hmm, pretty small,”</b> Roman texted.<b> “We need to get you something bigger. Help get you used to riding big dicks like ours.”</b><br/>Punk shivered. He had to admit that after the Shield, the tiny vibrator looked a little disappointing. <b>“Thank you Daddy,”</b> he replied.<br/>He laid on his bed, shucking off his clothes. No one could see him, but he felt exposed. It was as if Roman was in the room with him, dark eyes burning into his skin. He grabbed a bottle of lube and drizzled some over the toy. His heart pounded when he pressed the tip against his hole, teasing himself. This was hardly his first time doing this -- it was his preferred way to cum when he was alone -- but his skin burned with the thrill of knowing that it was at Roman’s request, all for Roman’s pleasure alone. The fact that John was only a few yards away, oblivious, only made it all the more tantalizing, and there was already a small bead of precum dripping from the head of his cock by the time he eased the shaft into himself. He bit down on one of his knuckles to keep from moaning; even though he missed the heat and size of a real cock, the toy filled him nicely, and he knew exactly how to shift his hips to make it rub against his prostate. He shivered and turned it on low. The sound made him jump, and he gasped at the vibration thrumming against the most sensitive spot inside him. He started fucking himself like he was performing for an audience, panting softly, hips rolling, free hand exploring his body everywhere but the one place he wasn’t allowed to touch. He imagined Roman at the foot of the bed, glaring down at him, assessing him. The ball of electric heat that had been growing in his belly swelled, and he pulled the toy out, legs shaking. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, waiting for his arousal to fade until he could move without cumming. <i>Four more to go,</i> he thought, and he suddenly wondered how he was going to survive even a week under the Shield if this was just his first task.<br/>He shoved the toy back in roughly, needing to feel something inside him. He groaned, burying his face in his pillow, his toes curling. He turned the vibrations up a notch and pressed the tip firmly against the bundle of nerves inside him. Sparks exploded in his chest, his hips canted upwards, and his desperate cock twitched, dripping more and more sticky fluid across his stomach. Panting, he held the vibrator in place for as long as he could stand. When he was breathless with pleasure, he yanked it out, whining. It took even longer for his arousal to fade enough to start again. He suffered through three more near-orgasms, and by the end, he was shaking, sweating, and so horny he felt ready to combust. Precum cooled in his navel and the surrounding puddle. He wished he could drive the toy back into his ass until he came so hard he saw stars. Instead, he grabbed his phone, took a picture of his needy cock and and stomach, and sent it to Roman. He couldn’t resist adding, <b>“How did I do?” </b><br/><b>“Ohh baby &lt;3 nice and wet like a good bitch.”</b> Roman sent along a picture of his own: his strong hand clutching his hard shaft through his boxers. Punk’s mouth watered, and he whimpered softly. His hole was painfully empty.<br/><b>“Thank you Daddy. Will you fuck me soon?”<br/>“Patience, princess. You’ll know when I decide.”</b><br/>Punk growled in frustration. He’d just spent half an hour fucking himself for someone else’s amusement, but he wanted more, wanted to fall completely under a master’s control. He was already obsessed. <br/>He cleaned himself up with tissues from his nightstand and redressed. His clothes chafed his oversensitive skin. “Everything okay?” John asked when he joined him back on the couch. His nerves crackled just from being so close. <br/><i>No. I’m not doing this with John. He’s my friend, for fuck’s sake. </i><br/>“Yeah, fine. Heyman had me double booked. We got it figured out.”<br/>“Cool. I ordered pizza. Just pepperoni, because god forbid you expand your horizons.”<br/>Punk rolled his eyes and grabbed his controller. Settling back on the couch, his knee brushed against John’s.<br/>Two jolts shot up his spine: one of pleasure, one of terror. He swallowed and pulled away, heart hammering.<i> No. No. It’s nothing. Stop.</i> Self-disgust soured his stomach. <br/>John didn’t seem to have noticed. He just picked up his controller and started a new game. Punk played a few more rounds, but he was distracted by his still-present arousal and the way John’s muscles rippled when he moved.<br/>When the pizza guy knocked, John quickly got up to greet him. Punk’s phone buzzed. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it was Roman yet again. <b>“Seth is setting up a date for you.”</b><br/>Anxiety and arousal flared in his chest. It seemed so fast. Then again, he’d been the one wanting them to make use of him. He hoped his text back sounded casual. <b>“With who?”<br/>“You’ll know when the time comes.”</b><br/>Of course. Punk sighed, but he typed back,<b> “OK.”<br/>“You could sound more grateful. And here I thought you wanted someone to use you.”</b><br/>He responded with embarrassing quickness. <b>“Sorry Daddy. Thank you and thanks to Seth for taking care of me.” <br/>“That sounds more like a good little girl who deserves to have her pussy bred.”</b><br/>He was flooded with electricity. The praise gave him a head rush. His knuckles went white from clutching his phone so hard. <b>“Then maybe you should do it Daddy… I can make it worth your while.”</b> After a moment’s hesitation, he added a tongue emoji and sent it. <br/>He jumped at the soft thud of a pizza box on the countertop. “Are you okay?” John asked. “You look hot.”<br/>Punk’s pulse spiked. “Fine.”<br/>The desire for more information was clearly written on John’s face, but he was smart enough to swallow any further questions. He grabbed a slice and started eating, flicking through movies on Netflix. He remained blessedly ignorant to what Punk was doing just beside him.<br/>The straight edge superstar forced himself to eat and watch the TV. The pizza was tasteless (he thought dimly that he should’ve let Cena get his stupid olives), and the screen in front of him flashed brightly without him taking notice. He was too focused on the phone in his pocket, and when it dinged, he felt like he’d finally come up for air.<br/><b>“That tight throat of yours IS appealing… I don’t know if I want that or your boy cunt.”</b><br/>Punk sensed a chance to earn brownie points and replied, <b>“Whatever Daddy wants, Daddy gets.”</b> Then, with a pang of anxiety, he added, <b>“I just want to make you feel good.” </b>Which was true, bizarrely. He couldn’t stop replaying the moments Roman filled him with cum. He didn’t care where it went: his ass, his mouth, his chest, his face. He craved the warmth and fulfillment of making the Shield’s leader feel satisfied. <br/>When he was with women, he was never with them fully. His mind would wander, and while he took pride in being a good fuck, he wasn’t that interested in their orgasms. He let them wring their pleasure from his body because it kept them happy, and he could content himself with thinking about a favorite porno or the sheer physical sensations in his body. There was no all-consuming need for their bodies against his or their moans in his ear. <br/>It had to be something about the Shield, then. That hypnotic power they had over him must be what was fueling his need to make them feel better than they’ve ever felt. They must’ve made a deal with the devil to hold that sort of sway. <br/>He and John ate quietly, eyes on the TV. He noticed Cena’s pale blue eyes watching him out of his periphery. He shouldn’t be surprised the guy was worried after their last conversation. The gap between them suddenly felt cavernous. Even the space on the couch between them seemed bigger. Punk’s chest felt sore and constricted. <br/>Before he left, John nibbled thoughtfully at his lip and said, “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything, for any reason.”<br/>It sounded so easy when he put it that way. Punk was sure it would’ve been easy for people like Cena, who probably didn’t have parts of his mind that were too much to touch, much less share. He gave his friend a tight smile. “Of course.”<br/>“Of course,” John echoed. He lingered at the door for a moment, lips parted like he wanted to add something. Instead, he left with a mumbled goodbye that Punk returned in kind. <br/>Punk felt lonely, sitting in his bus, on edge and ambiently horny. He didn’t want to text the Shield; it might seem needy or impertinent. He considered texting Kofi, but if he was being honest with himself, he was way too distracted by a warmth in his belly to be decent company. He laid down on the couch and pulled his knees to his chest, forlorn. <br/>His phone dinged. He scrabbled to reach for it. It was another text from “Daddy.”<b> “All alone?”<br/>“Yes, Daddy.”</b> A litany of ideas ran through his head, dozens of filthy scenarios he could use to entice Roman to come give him the attention he craved. He typed a few, but deleted them all. He was too shy to hit send. Instead, he settled for, <b>“Do you want to join me?”<br/>“Not tonight. I want you desperate the next time we get our hands on you.” </b><br/>Punk shivered. He already felt pretty desperate. He decided against arguing, but he accompanied the “okay” he sent back with a crying emoji.<br/><b>“Poor baby. All that edging and you’re still not satisfied?”<br/>“No.”<br/>“Pathetic slut.”</b><br/>His cock stirred again in his jeans. He reached to grab it, then stopped himself. <br/>Technically, he could do it. He knew that. If he wanted, he could stroke his cock and cum right then. The Shield was supposedly shacked up in their own bus; they would never know if he didn’t tell them. He may have signed paperwork, but they couldn’t actually own him. <br/>Gently, he groped his thickening shaft. He looked over his shoulder, paranoid, before he tugged his pants and boxers down to reveal his dick. He pulled off his shirt as well, then sat back down on the couch to reread his exchanges with Roman so far. It wasn’t long before he was fully stiff. His hand wrapped around the length, but stopped there. <br/>Punk figured he probably thought less about his dick than the average man. Until he was banned from playing with it, his interactions with it didn’t involve much reflection. The words “tiny princess cock” stick out in Roman’s texts, and Punk could feel his length throb in his hand when he read it. He’d never thought of it as small — he had checked online before, and he remembered thinking he was, at worst, on the low end of average, and he’d never had complaints — but in comparison to the Shield, it was downright petite. Insignificant. No wonder they’d told him not to touch it. It now seemed so undersized that the effort spent on it felt like a waste. He didn’t know if he was more shamed or aroused by that.<br/>He took his hand away from the shaft. The pleasure wasn’t worth the guilt of disobedience. <br/>He laid back, looking at the ceiling. He hated falling in line. <i>What’s happening to me? </i><br/>Another text from Roman interrupted his reverie. <b>“What are you doing right now?”<br/>“Sitting here naked, reading through your texts to tease myself.”</b> He didn’t see a point in lying. <br/><b>“That’s all it takes?”<br/>“Just thinking about you guys turns me on.”<br/>“You’re so cute. Are you touching yourself?”<br/>“No. I’d rather have you touching me anyway.”<br/>“I know. But I’m busy with my boys tonight. Bonding and planning on all the filthy things we’re gonna do to you.”</b><br/>Punk let out a strangled sound. <b>“I could come over to provide some inspiration.”<br/>“You can inspire us from there. You still need to get pounded?”<br/>“Always.”<br/>“Then why don’t you send me a video of you edging as long as you can with that little pink toy in your ass?”</b><br/>The idea sounded like absolute torture, and he tripped over his own feet in his haste to start. Even though he was alone, he locked his bedroom door behind him. <br/>It wasn’t until the camera was set up on his dresser at just the right angle and he was bent over in front of it with the lubed toy in his hand that he realized just what he was doing. He’d tried to avoid getting his face in the shots -- mostly out of a self-conscious fear that he would look stupid -- but if the Shield showed the video to anyone, there would be zero doubt who it was. The tattoos on his hands and arms would be identifiable to anyone who’d ever seen him. For all he knew, Roman was getting ready to upload the video to a porn site with the title “WATCH CM PUNK (PHIL BROOKS) FUCK HIS ASS FOR ROMAN REIGNS.”<br/>He didn’t stop. In spite of himself, he trusted Roman. He rarely trusted anyone, but he had faith in the Shield. He knew it was insane, but a part of him believed them when they told him they would take care of him -- not because of any affection for Punk, but because he was <i>theirs</i>. There was more safety in being owned than in being adored. <br/>This time, Punk didn’t waste energy preparing himself. He shoved the toy in rough and buried his face in a pillow to cover his needy moan. He thrust the toy hard and fast, adjusting the angle until a delicious jolt shot up his spine and he whined. Alone, the sounds of his own pleasure were loud in his ears: breathy sighs, whimpers, and high moans both embarrassed and further aroused him. He spread his legs wider and rocked back against the vibrator as he drove it in, needing the stretch and sting of being fucked into oblivion. He thought of the Roman, Seth, and Dean watching him, murmuring to each other, tossing out little bits of praise and mockery, hands roaming over each other’s laps. He hoped watching him made Roman’s eyes darken in that dangerous way they did. Maybe Dean was fingering Seth, asking him whether he’d rather be on his knees next to Punk or fucking the tattooed superstar himself. Punk imagined them giving him orders (“faster,” “raise your ass up more,” “tease your prostate, princess”), and it was enough to make him need to pull the toy out. His entire body trembled with a need for release that he refused to give it.<br/>Punk lost track of time and the number of near-orgasms he gave himself. By the time he rolled off the mattress, the sky outside his window was graying and the video he’d recorded was over half an hour long. That astonished him. It might as well have been seconds. Satisfaction and arousal warred within him. He was still desperate to be fucked into a stupor, but knowing he’d followed his master’s instructions filled him with pride. He sent the video. <br/>Tired, he showered, relieved to wash away the sweat, lube, and precum on his skin. He buzzed under his skin. He was horny, exhausted, and elated. Suddenly ravenous, he dug pizza out of the fridge and inhaled it. He texted John, <b>“Thanks for the pizza. Sorry for being weird. Just have a lot on my mind lately.”</b><br/>The reply was almost instantaneous. <b>“It’s fine. You can always talk about it if you want.”</b><br/>Punk didn’t respond. He waited for Roman’s text instead. When it finally came, his heart skipped. He was happy to see multiple heart eye emojis. <b>“Filthy little princess. Excellent performance. You gave us a very fun evening.”</b><br/>Punk wondered what they’d been doing. He imagined Roman buried in Seth’s ass, murmuring in his ear, while Dean waited his turn, nearly feral with arousal. He wanted to ask, but it felt like crossing a line to question what they did in private. He wrote, <b>“Thank you, Daddy. I wish you all could’ve been here to tell me what to do.”</b><br/>His own honesty distressed him. He knew he was in deep. <br/>Texts from Seth and Dean appeared as well. <b>“I love watching your clit twitch while you play with your little pink toy,”</b> Seth said. <b>“Glad you like playing pornstar so much.”</b> <br/>Dean’s response was blunt. <b>“What a stupid whore. &lt;3” </b><br/>Punk shivered and thanked them both. <br/>His phone screen flickered off, the battery finally dead. He was left looking at his own face reflected back at him in the black glass. His stomach turned, and even when he looked away, he could still see his expression. <br/>He couldn’t remember ever looking so relaxed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this one is short, but I feel like the next chapter is gonna end up running long. Plus, it's taking a bit longer to write, but I wanted to update anyway. I'm also considering editing some stuff in past chapters about Punk's trauma because I'm thinking of going a different way with it. I'm putting a lot of thought into an anonymous wrestling fanfic, is what I'm really saying. I hope you guys enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being back in the locker room was surreal. Punk was jumpy as soon as he walked in, but aside from a few glances, the Shield didn’t even notice him. He felt exposed. He had no idea who Seth was planning to set him up with or when, and it made him hyper aware of every too-long look someone sent his way. He was glad his match was midway through the show. How was he supposed to make it through hours like this? His patience was already being tested. When Sheamus pressed up against him to get between him and a bench, he dug an elbow into the Irish warrior’s ribs and snarled at him to fuck off. “Easy, killer,” Kofi joked as he passed by.<br/>
He opened his locker and peeled his clothes off, replacing them with a towel around his waist. He headed towards the showers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seth slipping into a towel and sandals, and his heart jumped into his throat.<br/>
The shower area was mostly empty; he was one of the few people who preferred to shower both before and after a match. He slipped into a stall, but he didn’t lock the door, tossing his towel over the partition wall and turning on the water. It didn’t take long for the spray to fade from frozen into a gentle warmth that relaxed his muscles. He tipped his head back into the spray.<br/>
He heard the door swing open and closed, then the metallic slide of the lock. He kept his eyes closed, feeling the heat of Seth’s gaze. “I almost wish I could just watch you,” Seth remarked, voice low. Punk could hear him circling him in the tiny stall. “You’re a great performer.”<br/>
Punk smiled. “Glad you liked the video.”<br/>
“I did. But now I want the real thing.”<br/>
He opened his eyes to find Seth seated on the small bench under the showerhead, naked, stroking himself. He bit his lip hungrily and said, “I’ll give you anything you want.”<br/>
“Good. Let me use that mouth.”<br/>
He shivered. His cock twitched, hardening against his thigh. He lowered himself to his knees and took a moment to admire the pink, flared head before swirling his tongue around it and swallowing the shaft in one swift move.<br/>
Seth moaned above him, digging a hand into Punk’s short hair and twisting. Chills ran up the straight edge superstar’s spine. The pain made him harder. He started bobbing enthusiastically, groaning, proud of how the vibrations in his throat made Seth’s toes curl.<br/>
“Fuck,” Seth sighed, guiding the other man’s movements. The pace he set was fast and sloppy. “It’s been way too long since I’ve really face fucked someone. Daddy and Dean only let me do this to the real dumb sluts. The needy cocksleeves with useless clits who want to have their holes stuffed.” He held Punk down, burying the tattooed star’s nose in his pubic hair. “Remind you of anyone?”<br/>
Punk’s head spun as the oxygen drained from his lungs. He tried to nod, and was relieved when Seth chuckled and let him go. Still, he kept Seth’s dick in his mouth, lapping at it while he got his breath back. “Good girl,” Seth purred, and the sound went straight to Punk’s cock. He whined, hips canting forward helplessly in a desperate bid to find friction. “Want some help, princess?” Seth pressed the flat plane of his sole against Punk’s shaft, trapping it against the star’s tattooed stomach. Punk thrust forward experimentally and whimpered at the sensation. “You’re welcome,” Seth said sweetly.<br/>
Punk redoubled his efforts, tongue snaking over the underside of Seth’s long shaft, swallowing around it, trying to milk Seth’s cock with his throat. The architect leaned his head back and sighed, patting Punk’s hair like a well-behaved pet. The straight edge superstar’s thrusts were growing erratic on the bottom of Seth’s foot, and the tattooed man finally had to pull back, gasping, to ask, “Can I…?”<br/>
“Not just yet,” Seth replied, and an involuntary whine left the other man’s throat. “We have to make sure you’re being good for us. Did you bring the right gear?”<br/>
Punk nodded. He’d gotten a text from Roman that morning saying he wanted to see him in blue that night, and he’d grabbed a pair of cobalt briefs and boots with matching stars.<br/>
“Good. Now make me cum, and we’ll see how your match goes.”<br/>
Punk happily obliged, pleased to have Seth back in his mouth. A salty smear of precum on his tongue told him he was getting close, and he started fucking his throat with Seth’s dick in earnest. Tears blurred his vision, but he ignored them, holding back gags as he swallowed one of his new masters as deep as he could. The spray from the showerhead washed away the drool dripping down his chin. When Seth’s breath hitched, Punk took him all the way, feeling the twitch deep in his throat as Seth came, fingers tightening in Punk’s short hair.<br/>
How Punk resisted cumming himself, he wasn’t sure. The foot pressed to his cock was dangerous now, and he didn’t dare to thrust against it for fear of disappointing the Shield. When Seth stood, the loss was equal parts maddening and relieving.<br/>
The architect leaned down. For a second, Punk thought he meant to kiss him, and his heart leapt into his throat. Instead, Seth murmured, “Make us proud out there, princess.”<br/>
And then he was alone, still on his knees in the shower. He could barely hear the rushing water over the pounding of his own heart. He quickly scrubbed himself down, twisting one of the knobs on the wall until the water was so cold it stung. He felt like he could finally breathe again when his cock softened.<br/>
Back in the locker room, he got into his gear, noticing that all three members of the Shield gave him a once-over when he was dressed. He wrapped his wrists and hands. He focused on his breathing, his heartbeat, the pull of his muscles with every movement. For the first time since the kidnapping, he felt like he was back in his body, his being in harmony. While he waited for his music to hit backstage, he thought of Seth’s words. <i>Make us proud.</i><br/>
And then he was in the ring, and across from him was Sheamus (who, a part of him remembered with a vague jolt, had fucked or been fucked by the Shield in a way that had been described as athletic). But unlike the past week, there was no anxiety in his gut. He felt branded and exposed in the gear Roman had picked for him, but it gave him a sense of pride. He had something to fight.<br/>
He ducked a Brogue Kick with ease, sweeping the other leg. He saw every move coming a mile away as if Sheamus were announcing them. He caught punches, slid out of holds, and stayed on his feet as his competitor grew pinker and more wild-eyed by the minute. Then it was the high knee into the running bulldog before he was up on the ropes, and now was the time he became aware of the audience, the way their body heat mingled with the lights to press into his skin and how the smell of excitement and overpriced popcorn invaded his nose. He stood for just a second above the ring, listening to his name in the mouths of hundreds.<br/>
Then he was diving, his elbow connecting with Sheamus’s sternum, his body slamming to the mat. He threw himself over the strong chest of the Irish Warrior. “ONE! TWO! THREE!” The crowd screamed it along with the referee. The bell rang, and the audience roared.<br/>
The sound flooded him. Bursts of ferocious pride went off like fireworks in his heart. He heaved himself back up to the top ropes, exhilarated. He slapped his chest and threw his fists in the air. “WHAT’S MY NAME?” he boomed, and the entire stadium replied.<br/>
“CM PUNK! CM PUNK! CM PUNK!”<br/>
As he stood, he hoped the Shield had seen. He wanted them to see him, his strength, everything he could do. He wanted them to see what he was giving them.<br/>
He wanted them to be proud.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this fic is gonna be pretty dark and weird. I'm mostly writing it to be self-indulgent and dig deep into a character's sexual psychology, but I hope other people can enjoy it too. A lot more tags will be added as chapters go on, including ships, but the primary ship is Shield/Punk. It may have a slow burn to endgame Punk/Cena by the end (their feud is just too good, I can't help it), but it will primarily be Shield/Punk throughout. The other ships are all encounters the Shield will set up for their new play thing :3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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